


One Little Slip

by SimplyLucia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: 1950s, Abuse, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Bittersweet Ending, California, Dubious Consent, F/M, Film Noir, Film Noir AU, Flashback, Heavy Drinking, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple References to Film Noir, POV First Person, Pyrophobia, San Diego, Violence, Voyeurism, mafia, major character death implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-08-20 06:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16550870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyLucia/pseuds/SimplyLucia
Summary: San Diego, 1955. A lonely girl in a fancy villa and a man spying on her, knowing she's out of his reach."Life's a ball game. You gotta take a swing at whatever comes along before you find it's the ninth inning" (Detour, 1945)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Everything belongs to G. R. R. Martin.  
> Edited with care by Cecilia1204: I owe you a big favor, dear!  
> About three years ago I came up with the idea of a film noir AU SanSan fic. I'm aware there are already a couple of film noir AU fics here on AO3. This one is a first-person narrative, with a bittersweet ending (some of you might call it a sad ending). Warnings for violence, dub con and major character death implied.  
> This story consists of a dozen chapters; eight chapters are already written. Updating on a regular basis wasn't my strong suit so I tried something different this time.  
> If you still want to give this story a go in spite of all these warnings, I'll be happy to read your comments :)

“I knew everything I did was low and rotten.

What did I care what people thought of me?

I despised them.” _The Gangster_ , 1947.

 

Am I more talkative with two double bourbons inside me or is the bullet in my leg compelling me to get it off my chest? I don’t know and I don’t give a shit.

Is it getting colder in here? Maybe it’s just me and the blood I’ve already lost. I’m chilled to the marrow. I’d better say what I have to say before going west. So let’s dictate my confession quickly and hope that someone finds it near my carcass at dawn.

I push the door open and instantly tell myself that Cersei’s fired the cleaning lady: Robert Baratheon’s former office is a mess. No one bothers to tidy a dead man’s office, I guess.

A thin layer of dust covers the old man’s dictaphone but it’ll work just the same. I collapse into the office chair with a grunt, reaching for the dictaphone, which feels metallic and heavy in my hand and I fucking freeze. Where should I begin? With the day old Tywin Lannister took me in? I thought he was doing me a favor; now I know better than to believe the bullshit he told me. Should I begin with the moment Joffrey committed his first felony or his first serious crime?

No.

There was one afternoon where I should have paid attention. When I should have recognized the threat looming over the villa and sensed the danger.

But I was a cunt; fooled by the sweet smell of jasmine.

One little slip.

That’s all it takes.

* * *

The cicadas were bloody loud that afternoon.

Someone once told me the chirping and clicking noises come from the male cicada and are a mating call that can be heard by females up to a mile away.  A mating call. Wouldn’t it be odd if humans did the same; if men performed all the courting rituals and women chose amongst them?

Here in San Diego, it’s usually the other way around: most females doll themselves up, put on their full war paint, flutter their fake eyelashes to seduce men and some of us fall for it. I used to pride myself on keeping a cool head when facing women but the truth is, my good looks tend to give them an urgent need to put their red lipstick away. You see, scars from hairline to chin never fail to make an impression on dames.

Anyway, the bloody male cicadas kept doing their thing and I kept doing what I was paid for - I paced from the wrought-iron gate of the Lannister villa to the agaves at the other end of the estate, and back. It was a hot day in June and if it weren’t for the sprinklers, the grass under my feet would be yellowish by now. As if I wasn’t already roasting under the sun in my two-piece flannel suit, I lit a cigarette, took a long drag and exhaled slowly. I never really liked summer, which is too bad when you live in Southern California.

The County of San Diego nevertheless offers adequate compensation for its scorching sun and its never-ending summer. Large, turquoise blue swimming pools and pretty girls wearing itsy-bitsy swimsuits sunbathing nearby. I spotted a girl with long blond hair near the pool. Alright... ‘girl’ may not be the word that comes to mind when one sees Cersei Lannister’s classy chassis. You’d think 'big league blonde’ instead and brace yourself the second she opens her mouth, unable to decide whether she’s going to sweet talk you or call you names.

Shielded by the Cape chestnut, I could see Cersei pacing near the swimming pool, wearing a form-hugging red dress while swirling bourbon in her glass and I wasn’t even sure it was her first. _Careful, Cersei, don’t trip. You don’t want to ruin your fancy dress by taking an impromptu dive,_ I thought. Her back to me, she suddenly shook her head, her attitude a tad too dramatic for someone who was supposedly drinking alone. She was talking to someone standing in the shade, under the porch. Narrowing my eyes, I made out the slender figure of Littlefinger. When did that fucker arrive? What was the owner of a juice joint doing with Cersei? He greased her palm, of course, like a lot of people in San Diego, but he rarely visited the villa. I stubbed my cigarette and resumed my walk.

Ten minutes later I was both equally bored to death and thirsty. The perks of being in charge of the Lannisters’ security, you know. Joffrey had given orders after Stannis Baratheon’s threats and he wanted me to keep a close eye on the estate. Trant or Blount were capable of doing it and I could have thought this job was unworthy of me, after long years of good and faithful service. I chose to believe that Joffrey wanted me to take care of it because he was shitting his pants - which he was. The feud between he and Stannis Baratheon had started when Robert, Cersei’s husband, had died under mysterious circumstances. An accident, Cersei had told everyone. Dames like Cersei are bound to lose their husbands in an accident that makes them even richer. Going into mourning suited her fair complexion but six months later, she wore red dresses again: hypocrisy never was her strong suit.

By the time I was behind the Cape chestnut again, Cersei had disappeared inside the house and Littlefinger’s car was departing down the driveway. Good riddance. Another kind of distraction awaited me near the swimming pool - the kind that men like me observe from afar, afraid of something breaking the spell.

She was lying on a sun lounger reading a book, wearing a blue and white frilly bikini. Do I need to say her name? You fucking know who I’m talking about. This girl was Sansa Stark, daughter to the late Ned Stark, and she shared Joffrey’s bed. What kind of dame shares the bed of a notorious hood, you ask? All kinds.

How the orphaned Stark daughter fell into the Lannister clutches would take too long to explain and I don’t have much time, as my bloody wound keeps reminding me. She lived there, first engaged to the little blond prick. She didn’t have anywhere to go nor anyone to turn to. Her family’s assets were controlled by a shady guy named Roose Bolton, one of the Lannister straw men. One day, Joffrey decided that taking her freedom and her heritage wasn’t enough and he simply took what she had not given him yet. Why tie the knot now that she was damaged goods? He never talked about marriage again. She was his plaything and she couldn’t escape; or so she thought.

Sansa, the little bird, as I like to call her, never failed to go outside when the shadows lengthened - it was one of the only pleasures she had left. I realized after some time that she always chose this moment because the villa was usually quiet before supper and because she didn’t want to get sunburnt.

And there she was, offering herself to the late afternoon sun. She suddenly shifted and rolled over onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows to read more comfortably. My eyes wandered down her neck and her spine, pausing on the curves of her perfect arse. She kicked one foot up and kept moving it back and forth, back and forth. _Cut it out, girl. No need to fake carelessness,_ I thought, although I knew she made a point of pretending everything was fine at all times.

At some point, she swiveled her head and looked towards me. Heart racing, I prepared a response, cutting and all - the kind of response that brought tears to her big, blue eyes - in case she spotted me. I was confident though: the bushy Cape chestnut never betrayed me. As I didn’t want to make myself seen or heard, I stayed perfectly still behind the tree until I remembered my cigarette, nearly burning my fingers whilst suppressing a grunt. I had forgotten to stub it. Sansa was reading again when I glanced at her and sighed in relief.

I allowed myself a couple more minutes of quietness, staring at the small of her back, her long legs, imagining what it would be like to slide the strap of her bathing suit off her shoulder and how soft her skin must be. _Time to split_ , I thought when twigs cracked on my left.

“Finally, Clegane.”

I turned and saw Meryn Trant.

How should I describe Meryn Trant? Red beard, droopy eyes that make me want to give him a knuckle-sandwich. I did end up giving him a knuckle-sandwich once, but at the time I was still trying to stay polite - polite for my standards, anyway.

“Finally, what?” We both spoke in a low voice.

The cunt gave me a smug smile. “I’ve been looking for you. Now I understand what you were doing… playing dead behind the trees, eyeing the Stark girl...”

“I’m not into schoolgirls.”

“No, of course not!” His smirk proved my answer didn’t convince him. “You wouldn’t dare lay your eyes on Joffrey’s whore, would you?”

My fingers curled into fists and I wondered how long I could endure him without losing my calm.

“Cruisin’ for a bruisin’, huh?” I replied, stepping forward and looking him up and down. He knew he wouldn’t have the upper hand if we fought.

He lifted his hands in a conciliatory gesture that his half-smile belied. “I won’t tell Joffrey, Clegane. I won’t tell anyone. Maybe you’re the one who’s right: Joffrey neglects her and it’s a pity she’s all alone. Maybe I’ll start looking at her from behind the trees, like you. Maybe I’ll get bolder and - ”

Before I knew it, my right hand was around his neck and he was choking. His eyes widened, pleading with me silently until I let go and he collapsed to the ground. I left my hiding place, knowing that Sansa had heard the ruckus. She was standing near the swimming pool, a red-haired goddess wearing a baby-blue bikini of the latest fashion, watching me with narrowed eyes.

_What did you hear, little bird? What do you know?_ She could have asked me a ton of questions. She could have yelled and called me a bloody pervert but instead, she just looked at me intently before turning around and hurrying back inside the villa.

Between a conversation with me and her gilded cage, she preferred the latter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crazy, fucked-up idea came to my mind. Joffrey was away. He didn’t even bother to call her in person, therefore showing he didn't give a shit. The little bird was getting some shut-eye and she would not notice. I had been eyeing her for such a long time, you see, knowing that she was out of my league, that she was Joffrey’s intended, and this was too good to be true. Nobody would ever know, I told myself. Isn't that the common trait of fucked-up ideas - we convince ourselves no one will ever find out what we did and that we'll get away with it?
> 
> So I did it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited with care by Cecilia 1204: thank you so much, dear!  
> Thank you all for reading, leaving kudos or commenting on the first chapter. Comments feed an author, as you know :)  
> Warning for mentions of abuse and voyeurism. Please proceed carefully.

“I did something wrong, once.” _The Killers_ , 1946.

 

Sometimes people hear what they want to hear and by calling them ‘gullible’ we think ourselves better than them. We believe we’re smart asses but we’re awfully wrong. These people aren’t dumb, they’re just desperate. Smooth talkers feed on despair. They would have very little success in a world where everyone was happy.

Every once in a while, Joffrey would call Sansa, sweet-talk her and say that he’d take her out for dinner or that they’d spend the evening together at the villa. Five minutes of apple butter and she’d believe him, or so it seemed. Was she still on the hook? Why was he playing with her like this? I’m no fucking shrink, but I’ll tell you this: cats play with mice for no reason at all, just because they can.

As soon as she received one of these calls the little bird would became restless. She’d bug Senelle, the housemaid, asking her to iron her dress or to help her fix her hair - as if Sansa's red hair needed to get fixed. She’d spend the rest of the day getting ready for her date with Joffrey, deserting the sun lounger near the swimming pool and being easily riled because everything had to be _perfect_ if she wanted to rekindle the flame.

When the little prick finally arrived, her agitation would reach new heights - poor thing - and she did what she thought was expected of her, plastering a smile on her face and cajoling Joffrey. Sometimes Joffrey took her out to dinner and by the look on her face the next morning, I knew the evening, instead of being a romantic one, had been a humiliating experience. Sometimes he lost patience and shut himself up with her in his bedroom right after arriving home. I often drank on those nights until I fell into a bourbon-induced stupor.

After some time, Joffrey stopped taking her out to have dinner in fancy places and started calling her to say he'd arrive later and that she’d better be in his bedroom to welcome him. The little bird was still restless on those occasions but she didn't pester Senelle anymore. Lingerie doesn't need to be ironed, right? After her reading session by the swimming pool, she’d spend a fair amount of time in her room where she’d ready herself like the big girl she was. Later, she’d sneak out and hurry down the hallway leading to Joffrey's bedroom, hiding the lacey things she wore under a long, silky négligée and carrying a book with her - she never knew how long Joffrey would make her wait...

It was late that night, maybe half past ten, when the phone rang. Curled up on the couch, Cersei was blowing smoke rings by the brand-new, all-transistor phonograph. She bolted off the sofa as soon as she heard the ringtone, quickly removing her clip-on earring, and picking up the handset. Over the trills of Yma Sumac, I heard her non-committal answers, interspersed with long silences. Finally, she hung up and the clicking of her mules drew closer. I looked up over the newspaper I was pretending to read and took in her frown.

“Joffrey,” she said with a sigh. “It was Joffrey. He’s painting the town red and he’ll come back home late. He told me he doesn’t want to find Sansa in his bed when he comes back. Go tell her, will you?”

I snorted. _Me?_ Was this a test? “The girl’s probably not decent.”

She was already heading back to the sofa but she froze, turned around and answered with a little smile. “Senelle doesn’t work tonight. The _little dove_ often takes sleeping pills and if she needs someone to carry her to her bed, I won’t be that someone! I guess I could ask Blount but... Blount has wandering hands…” Her frown deepened, seemingly disgusted.

At that point, I gawked; not because I didn't know Blount was a cunt - trust me, it didn’t take me long to find that out - but because this reasoning of hers was a bloody surprise. When was the last time she had showed any sense of morality?

I must have looked like a proper fool, because Cersei reddened and felt compelled to add, “I’m no saint but you have to draw a line somewhere, for Christ’s sake!”

She nervously tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Right now she hated me because I forced her to explain herself and by doing so, she showed the remains of a decency she hid behind the mask of the unprincipled, dissipated queen of the San Diego underworld.

“Now, stop looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost,” she seethed, one hand on her hip, “and make sure Sansa ends up in her own bed.”

The clicking of her heels, again. Cersei was walking back to her sofa, her smokes and her music.

I got to my feet and cast another glance in Cersei’s direction, in case she changed her mind, but from my spot I could only see over the back of the couch - the blonde crown of her head and her manicured hand holding a cigarette. Never did she look at me. I therefore dragged my feet to Joffrey’s bedroom, pausing in front of the door, and knocked.

Only Yma Sumac condescended to answer, somewhere behind me.

_Oh, what they do in Peru,_

_Tusurikusun viditay_

I didn't know what the hell people did in Peru, but I knew one thing: the girl wasn’t answering because she was asleep and I’d better obey Cersei’s orders. I opened the door, turned on the light, and froze.

The girl was curled up on Joffrey’s bed, her damned book and a bottle of sleeping pills by her side. Sleeping pills? As a reflex I strode to her, took her pulse and sighed with relief after a few seconds. She was alive; she even moaned - ever so slightly - in her sleep.

Sweat dripped down my forehead. Was it hotter in Joffrey’s bedroom? I loosened my tie, stepped back and contemplated what Joffrey had made of his eighteen year-old ex-fiancée - a girl who looked as alive as a ragdoll, except most ragdolls didn’t wear garter belts and black stockings. She had taken off the négligée she wore earlier. The black lace contrasted with her pale skin and that was probably how Joffrey wanted it. Obviously, the lingerie was a gift from him, to satisfy his own needs. There was just enough lace and satin in all the right places, as if the little prick couldn’t get hard without it.

“Girl,” I called. “Girl, wake up.”

She was still motionless. Another man would have smacked or pinched her cheeks to wake her up.  I didn’t. The hell if I know what got into me then. I walked to the door, closing it as quietly as possible and turned off the light before returning to the bed, watching her again. Someone had left the lights on outside and the venetian blinds cast strange, diagonal-striped shadows on the bedspread and her body.

Sansa shifted in her sleep, rolling onto her back, and I couldn’t help myself. My eyes wandered from her throat to her breasts and then from her waist to the curve of her hips - just as I had looked at her from behind the trees when she was by the swimming-pool, I thought - and before I realized what was happening, I was as hard as rock.

A crazy, fucked-up idea came to my mind. Joffrey was away. He didn’t even bother to call her in person, therefore showing he didn't give a shit. The little bird was getting some shut-eye and she would not notice. I had been eyeing her for such a long time, you see, knowing that she was out of my league, that she was Joffrey’s intended, and _this_ was too good to be true. Nobody would ever know, I told myself. Isn't that the common trait of fucked-up ideas - we convince ourselves no one will ever find out what we did and that we'll get away with it?

So I did it. I unbuckled my belt, freeing my cock from my pants and started jerking off whilst watching her. Up and down, up and down. My hand moved fast. I remember thinking I would never get another chance to do this again - to come before the girl who haunted my dreams - so there was no point in resisting the temptation. A one-shot. Besides... if I wasn’t touching her, I wasn't doing anything wrong, was I?

My pulse was racing and I was out of breath. I had to play dead. I couldn't make a sound lest Cersei hear me, so I bit my lip and it all ended with the weirdest kind of grunt and me, bending over.

I glanced at the bed again, suddenly afraid of getting caught, but Sansa’s chest rose and fell steadily, just like before. A pang of guilt hit me all the same. _What the fuck have I done?_ I asked myself. _What’s gotten into me?_ Cersei had chosen me to take Sansa to her own bed because ‘ _Blount had wandering hands’_ , to use her own words, and even without touching her, I had taken advantage of the dreamless sleep the little bird was in to do something even more despicable.

The girl had already lost everything and I didn’t even respect the break from her shitty life she bought herself by swallowing sleeping pills. Whether I liked it or not, things came down to this simple truth: I was rotten to the core.

I cleaned my hands as best as I could, sighing deeply, and considered the sleeping form on the bed. _Do what Cersei told you. Quick._ I strode to the door, opened it and walked back to Joffrey’s bed, lifting Sansa off it. She weighed nothing and carrying her to her own room was a breeze. Once inside, I realized I had never been in her room. Of course, I had seen the inside from the doorway, every time Joffrey had asked me to go tell her something, but I had never crossed the threshold, nor smelled the jasmine that came from one of the bottles of perfume on the glass dressing table. I clumsily pushed back the covers before setting her down on the bed and tucking her in. Not once did she open her eyes.

I made one more trip between Joffrey’s room and hers, to bring back the stuff she had left on his bed: her négligée, her book, the bottle of sleeping pills. I put the négligée on the back of a chair, the rest on the nightstand and glanced at her one last time, because it was time for me to split.

_How the fuck am I going to look at you straight in the eye tomorrow?_ I asked myself, knowing there was no answer to that.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She ran into me the morning after, as I was leaving Cersei’s office. The lady of the house had given her orders for the day, sending Blount to downtown San Diego to get what she believed was her money back from a restaurant owner. You can verify this information: the restaurant is called the Pomegranate. It's located in Little Italy and it burnt down shortly after. As for me… Cersei wanted yours truly to call people who might know what Stannis Baratheon was up to and I was headed to the telephone in the hallway when the little bird almost bumped into me.
> 
> She chirped her apologies right away and her eyes widened in terror because I felt compelled to look at her more harshly than usual. I squared my shoulders, determined to disguise my unease behind a brash, aggressive demeanor. She recoiled, hugging herself in her pale rose dress with puffed sleeves - the very image of innocence - and my guilt soared to a whole new level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by the awesome Cecilia 1204: thanks for your help!  
> Warning for mentions of abuse.

 “Do you look down on all women

or just the ones you know?

\- I was pretty nice to you.”

 _In a Lonely Place_ , 1950.

 

It’s a cliché in adventure movies: lost in a desert landscape, a man, thirsty and lonely, sees the mirage of a lake, so perfect, so believable with its blueish wavelets reflecting the sun, that he starts hoping again and a moronic smile graces his lips. In the next shot, as the man progresses towards the lake, it suddenly vanishes.

In my dreams, when I finally found sleep that night, there was no mirage of a lake but the blue rectangle of a swimming-pool and a red-haired girl sunbathing nearby. She ran away the moment she saw me. The dream came back, again and again, ‘til dawn. When the alarm clock rang I felt as exhausted and as desperate as the stupid show-off who gets lost in the desert.

How was I supposed to act when I saw the little bird again? _I’ve done many shitty things in my life,_ I thought, _but this…_

Every damn week, I beat the shit out of people. I broke their knees like one goes to the fun fair and a while ago I even took out a couple of guys without batting an eyelid. So how come I had never felt so guilty before? How come the events of last night kept me awake, leaving a taste of bile in my mouth? I had no answers to these questions. I only knew that, sooner or later, I’d have to face the little bird. The villa was big, but not big enough to avoid her forever.

She ran into me the morning after, as I was leaving Cersei’s office. The lady of the house had given her orders for the day, sending Blount to downtown San Diego to get what she believed was her money back from a restaurant owner. You can verify this information: the restaurant is called the _Pomegranate_. It's located in Little Italy and it burnt down shortly after. As for me… Cersei wanted yours truly to call people who might know what Stannis Baratheon was up to and I was headed to the telephone in the hallway when the little bird almost bumped into me.

She chirped her apologies right away and her eyes widened in terror because I felt compelled to look at her more harshly than usual. I squared my shoulders, determined to disguise my unease behind a brash, aggressive demeanor. She recoiled, hugging herself in her pale rose dress with puffed sleeves - the very image of innocence - and my guilt soared to a whole new level.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I barked. “You’re hardly able to stand.” And it was true - she looked as if the slightest draft could knock her over. Her big blue eyes pleaded with me, begged me to leave her be, but I ignored her distress and asked again where she thought she was going.

“To Joffrey’s room,” she squeaked. “I think I forgot something there last night.” She bit her lips. “My notebook.”

 _Fuck._ What did she remember from last night, exactly?

“Perhaps you could stay by the door while I look for my notebook,” she suggested. “Joffrey doesn’t want me to touch his things, but if you’re with me, it’s not as if I’m rummaging through his room, is it?”

I frowned. Was she so afraid of Joffrey that she didn’t want to retrieve her notebook from his bedroom in his absence?

“Please,” she insisted and I didn’t dare refuse.

I followed her down the hallway to Joffrey’s bedroom, scolding myself silently because I was unable to not stare at her arse as she walked. She stopped by the door and gestured, inviting me to open it. My fingers closing around the handle, I gave her a long look before obeying, then, once the door was open, I leaned against the door jamb, arms crossed while she quietly started exploring the room.

“God, where is it?” she sighed, slowly swiveling on her heels and scanning her surroundings.

“Try to remember where you put it last night,” I offered. “What were you doing with a notebook anyway?”

She turned around abruptly and snapped. “What I write in this notebook is none of your business.”

“Hey, get off your soapbox, little bird!”

Eyes narrowed, she held my gaze for a heartbeat or two before collecting herself and resuming her search.

“So you have no idea where you put the notebook? What do you remember from last night?” My heart thrummed in my ears as I uttered my question, hoping my rendition of the guy who leans against the door frame and doesn’t give a shit was good enough.

“Not much.” She knelt down and looked under the large bed. “I took some sleeping pills. Doctor Pycelle says they work wonders for girls like me.”

The irony that laced her words made me snort. “Why take sleeping pills when you’re waiting for Joffrey to give him a... warm welcome?”

She sat up, tugging a lock of hair behind her ear. “The lingerie and the lipstick are for Joffrey. The sleeping pills are for me. You’d think Joff would mind finding me unconscious in his bed. The truth is, he doesn’t mind at all. He gets what he wants and I get some sleep. And the next morning, what happened during the night...” She paused. “...feels like a dream. Unpleasant but so vague it doesn't really matter.”

You would have thought she was talking about some other girl she didn't know and didn't care about. She gave me the weirdest kind of smile, a bitter one that said how proud of herself she was because of my dumbfounded look and my clenched fist. _You_ _didn't_ _expect_ _this_ _from_ _the_ _little_ _bird_ , _did_ _you_? she seemed to say. All of a sudden her smile vanished and her delicate features hardened. Sansa shifted, disappearing behind the bed, exploring another part of the bedroom, before raising to her full height.

“It was under the chest of drawers!” she announced, almost sounding triumphant.

Brandishing her notebook, she moved past me close enough to let me breathe in her perfume and see her flushed cheeks. I couldn't resist - I snatched the notebook from her hands before she realized what was going on. It was the act of a bully who abuses the weak because he can. I held the notebook high above my head and I smirked at her vain attempts to get it back.

Our little game went on for half a minute before she froze. I thought she’d just give up and admit she couldn’t have the upper hand because I towered above her, that she’d start pleading with me soon after. I wanted to hear her chirping again and to make this moment last a little longer. However, she surprised me again by staring at me without a word. She bit her lower lip and I noticed her chin was trembling. Under different circumstances, the panic I read in her eyes would have made the situation funny but I didn’t feel like laughing that day. What was she hiding from me?

“Why do you want this notebook so bad?” I asked, keeping it out of her reach, but now running my thumb on the fore edge. “What’s in it? Your diary, I guess. _‘Dear diary, today Joffrey said he would show up but he didn’t,’_ ” I taunted, mimicking her voice.

She glared at me, shaking her head. “You want to read it? Go ahead, read it. Things can hardly get worse for me, can they? And if they do get worse because of what you read, well… who cares? I have nothing left to lose.” Her serious tone sent a chill down my spine. You have to understand that she wasn’t pretending. I’ve seen many people lying to my face and I know a liar when I see one, so you can trust me when I say that she was bloody serious and didn’t try to fool me as her eyes bore into mine.

“You see… I’m not a big fan of women’s literature.” She rolled her eyes at that, but I went on. “So maybe I’ll consider giving it back to you.”

Far from thanking me, she arched an eyebrow. “In exchange for…?”

I frowned deeply.

“Come on!” she said. “People like you don’t do things out of generosity... usually.” A ghost of a smile graced her lips and I suddenly remembered the day I wiped up the blood from the corner of her lips, after Blount beat her on Joffrey’s orders. Then I buried the thought away. Maybe what she had in mind had nothing to do with it. Why would she bring this up anyway?

“Do you know how you ended up in your bed last night?” I asked.

Sansa shook her head. “I read in Joffrey’s bedroom and I took one of the pills Pycelle gave me. I fell asleep. That’s all. Why do you ask? Are you writing a book or something?” She almost chuckled at her own boldness.

“Cersei asked me to tell you to leave Joffrey’s bedroom or to carry you to your own room in case you were asleep.”

She crossed her arms about her chest and I thought _‘she’s doing it again’_ , just like the other day when I spied on her and saw her lying down with her feet up in the air. She played the role of the girl who’s confident and if it weren’t for her flushed cheeks, I would have bought it.

“And...? What’s so groundbreaking about that? Joffrey making up his mind and deciding in the end that he doesn’t want me in his bed isn’t a first…” She paused and her eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, I understand now. You carried me to my bedroom so you witnessed my humiliation.” She blushed even more. “Thank you, I guess.”  

_She doesn’t remember._ I didn’t know if I was relieved or if I wanted her to know what I had done the night before, in Joffrey’s room. Part of me wanted her to know what effect she had on me. I held out the notebook, expecting her to grab it quickly before copping a breeze. She glanced over her shoulder, then looked at me in the eye and whispered, “Names, dates, places. All the things I’ve overheard about the Lannisters’ activities in San Diego, about the people they racketeered… That’s what I keep in the notebook.” She took it from my hands.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked as she turned around and headed to her room.

She stopped mid-stride, gave me long look over her shoulder and resumed walking without answering.  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve ever had dinner at The Lion Gate, you’d know what it looks like: a white-tablecloth dining room with pretentious silverware, a lounge pianist hired precisely because he doesn’t give a shit about the diners’ indifference and a stuck-up, disdainful head waiter - the key element in any fancy restaurant.  
> Joffrey had chosen The Lion Gate to have dinner with Cersei and Sansa that night. I couldn't quite identify the source of that barometric shift in the Lannister household but the fact was that Joffrey had decided to play ball and pretend he was having a blast with his mother and his girlfriend. He had told us to take the two women to the restaurant and that he was due to arrive later. From the nearby table where I was seated with Boros Blount, neither the blonde nor the redhead looked thrilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is not here yet, but here's a little something for you, if you're reading this story...  
> Edited by Cecilia1204, despite a thunderstorm which knocked out her internet! Many thanks to her for her precious help :)  
> Warnings for self-inflicted violence and one racist remark.

“There are worse things than murder:

you can kill someone an inch at a time.”

_99 River Street_ , 1953.

 

If you’ve ever had dinner at _The Lion Gate,_ you’d know what it looks like: a white-tablecloth dining room with pretentious silverware, a lounge pianist hired precisely because he doesn’t give a shit about the diners’ indifference and a stuck-up, disdainful head waiter - the key element in any fancy restaurant.

Joffrey had chosen _The Lion Gate_ to have dinner with Cersei and Sansa that night. I couldn't quite identify the source of that barometric shift in the Lannister household but the fact was that Joffrey had decided to play ball and pretend he was having a blast with his mother and his girlfriend. He had told us to take the two women to the restaurant and that he was due to arrive later. From the nearby table where I was seated with Boros Blount, neither the blonde nor the redhead looked thrilled. Cersei had already drained her first martini whilst waiting for the little prick and Sansa did her best to look like the perfect fiancée, sitting demurely with her ankles crossed, smiling back at the people the Lannisters had introduced her to. All her smiles were fake but they didn’t care, knowing she didn’t mean much to Joffrey anymore.

“Really? Another martini?” Blount muttered. At the next table, the waiter took the empty glass and gave a servile nod when Cersei ordered a second drink. We were so bored, Blount and I, that we could have bet on the number of martinis Cersei was going to knock back that night.

“For God sake, where is he?” Cersei asked, once the waiter walked away.

“I’m sure there’s a good reason-”

“Save your breath, little dove,” Cersei cut her son’s girlfriend off. “I wasn’t even addressing you.”

One martini later, Joffrey arrived with Meryn Trant in tow, sitting down with the ladies while Trant joined us. Joffrey conveniently changed the subject when his mother asked where he was and why he was late. The dinner began and for long minutes their table remained silent except for the clinking of forks and knives on china. Around us, diners came and went. After the first course, Joffrey talked about Stannis Baratheon with Cersei and everything seemed normal until he started having trouble finishing his sentences, making his mother repeat herself. Of course, Cersei noticed and pointed out his absent-mindedness. He tried to muddy the waters and as always when he did this, Cersei narrowed her eyes. Sansa remained stone-faced but she soaked everything up like a sponge.

Cersei was now observing her surroundings, trying to understand what had disturbed her precious son, as was I. I’ve spent so many years in Cersei’s shadow that I’ve come to think like her. There were lots of people the Lannisters knew in the restaurant - some bribed by the Lannisters, others had been elected or had received promotions thanks to them, like the bald man on my left. Which one of them had caught Joffrey's attention?

The chimes, again. A man of slender build, clad in the finest gray wool suit, came into the restaurant, distracting us from our little game. As soon as he took off the hat that hid the upper half of his face, I mentally rolled my eyes. _Littlefinger. What the hell brings you here?_ It took him a few seconds to spot Joffrey’s table and to head towards the Lannisters, all without ever losing his smirk. Smoothing his moustache, he paid his respects to Cersei, exchanged a couple of words with Joffrey but it was clear that Sansa was the one who interested him. Under his scrutiny, she repeatedly dropped her gaze and fiddled with her fork.

Whilst Littlefinger walked away to sit by the window, Joffrey looked at his costly watch as the bells of the nearest church struck nine. The door opened once more and a glamorous duo entered - Loras Tyrell followed by his sister Margaery. Tall, handsome, brown-haired, they chuckled at the same joke until their laughter drowned out the conversations of the other diners. My eyes drifted back to Joffrey and I understood: eyes widened, mouth ajar, he was literally transfixed by the appearance of the Tyrell girl.

Grinning from ear to ear, Margaery frantically waved at Cersei before the Tyrell siblings sashayed to the table next to ours. During the short conversation that ensued, it was difficult not to notice Joffrey’s moronic smile whenever he met eyes with the girl. Her brother did his best to entertain the ladies in the meantime but all his compliments sounded shallow. Women raved about his lazy curls and perfect features but there were nasty rumors about him and the late Renly Baratheon. I once heard Tyrion saying that Loras Tyrell preferred boys to girls. He might as well prefer cats, for all I cared.

The Tyrell siblings took their leave and walked to Littlefinger’s table to say hello, then to another table, as if they knew everyone in this damn restaurant.

“She’s sweet,” Joffrey commented, a goofy smile on his lips.

“Yes, she is,” his mother agreed. “A sweet slut.”

Next to me, Trant snickered at her remark.

Joffrey’s open palm slammed down on the table, rattling the silverware. “How dare you?” he hissed.

“ _Come_ _on_ , Joffrey darling. It runs in the family. Everyone knows how her grandmother got her hooks into Luthor Tyrell. And as your grandfather often says, ‘this is how far a girl can get if she keeps her stockings’ seams straight.’ I’m sure Sansa agrees with me. Don’t you, little dove?”

The little dove remained silent and very pale. Chest visibly heaving, she stared at Joffrey, eyes narrowing slowly. For a second or two, she was the very image of a girl who’s just realized she’s been cheated on and I started to question everything she had told me a couple of days before, when she had been looking for her notebook. After our conversation, I thought she had lost all her illusions and hated Joffrey, but the tears welling up in her eyes denied all the things she had confessed back then. She was still in love with him and his attraction to Margaery Tyrell sickened her.

I was scolding myself for being such a fool when Sansa abruptly got to her feet, almost knocking over her glass of wine in the process, saying she needed the ladies’ room. Joffrey’s eyes rolled skyward as Sansa walked away, her purse under her arm.

“You’re making a huge mistake.” It was Cersei’s voice, again. “You’re blind. This Tyrell girl will be the death of you.”

“Are you fortune telling now, Mother? At least one of us has a backup plan if Stannis Baratheon ruins us. All you need is a nice little trailer. That, and maybe a Slavic accent to bring your character to life.”

They kept baiting each other but I wasn't listening. I just wanted to know if the little bird was alright. I looked at my watch.

_9:09._

She’d been gone for a minute or two.

_9:11._

_Where the hell is she?_

_9:12…_

When we escorted Joffrey and Cersei to the restaurant, or any public place, Blount, Trant and I kept a low profile and remained as inconspicuous as three bruisers can be: it was an unspoken agreement. _Fuck these rules,_ I thought as I rose to my full height.

“She should be back by now,” I growled, addressing Cersei. Despite the alcohol she had already drunk, she was more sensible than her son.

Joffrey protested but Cersei cut him off. “Bring her back before people start to wonder. The last thing we want is a scandal.” Then she turned to Blount, “Go fetch me some cigarettes, will you?”

_The ladies’ room, quick._ A woman with a fish-like face and a red pillbox hat, probably in her forties, arrived before me, giving me a suspicious glance over her shoulder before opening the door of the ladies’ room and gasping.

The stalls were on the right and the washstands on the left. Sansa was leaning on one of the washstands, breathing heavily, watching what was left of the large mirror, placed there so that the female customers of _The Lion Gate_ could touch up their makeup. I pushed the lady to the right and rushed inside.

The mirror was now shattered, its broken pieces covered in blood, just like Sansa’s hands.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And for a second I had an odd sensation, as if my mind left my body and I could see us from outside, looking through the windshield, as we sat side by side in the Chevrolet. I was driving my favorite car at the moment, the one that made my mouth water a little and never failed to bring a distorted smile to my half-burnt face when I had a chance to drive it, and next to me was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, wearing a pretty white dress that looked ethereal under the artificial light of the streetlamps. 
> 
> Yet my shoulders sagged. There were blood stains on that pretty white dress and the girl had not spoken a word since I found her in the ladies’ room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of self-harm and suicidal thoughts.  
> A huge thank you to Cecilia1204 who edited this chapter and did wonders - as always.

“Who knows just exactly what is in a woman’s heart?”

_The File on Thelma Jordan_ (1950).

  


“Help!” the pillbox hat lady cried out, looking towards the dining room.

She was so upset her voice was barely a whisper. I planted myself in front of her, looked down at her fish-like face and hissed, “What’s your name?”

“Falyse Stokeworth.”

“Where do you live, Mrs Stokeworth?”

“I live in… I live in La Jolla,” she quavered. Her eyes wandered dangerously over the burnt side of my face. _It’s rude to stare._

“You’d better keep your mouth shut, Mrs Stokeworth, unless you want me to pay you a nightly visit. La Jolla isn’t that big, it should be easy to find you.”

She closed her heavy eyelids briefly, then took a sharp intake of breath. “Who are you, for Christ’s sake?”

“I’m with Mr Joffrey Baratheon and Mrs Cersei Lannister. There are three of us escorting them and, for your information, compared to the others, I’m the friendly type.”

Mumbling something incoherent, she tried to hide her face behind her purse - a large, square, patent-leather thing with a lucite handle. I took a step back and barked, “You’re going to help me.”

I turned to face Sansa, who was still standing by the washstand, contemplating her shattered and bloodied reflection in the mirror. In two strides I was by her side, examining her wounds. They were less serious than the mess she had made suggested at first glance: some gashes on her left wrist, smaller cuts on her fingers and palms.

“I’m going to call for help,” Mrs Stokeworth stammered, inching towards the door.

My eyes bored into her bulging ones and snarled. “Looks like you’ve not paid attention. You do exactly what I tell you. Come _here_.”

Still shielding herself with her purse, Mrs Stokeworth moved closer, her red pillbox hat wobbling dangerously on top of her head.

“I bet every Falyse Stokeworth on this earth carries handkerchiefs in their purse. Give me one,” I demanded as I helped Sansa wash the blood off her hands. “Why did you do this?” I asked her under my breath. She didn’t answer.

A trembling hand held out a handkerchief - a white flag of sorts - and I used it to wrap Sansa's left wrist.

“She needs stitches,” Mrs Stokeworth commented.

I chuckled darkly. “Aren’t you a perceptive woman… She does need stitches, but first, she needs to leave this restaurant without anyone noticing her.”

Sansa nodded adamantly.

“And that's why I need your help, Mrs Stokeworth.”

She pointed to the door, puckering her lips. “Can't I just -”

“Nope. You’ve seen her, you’ve given me your handkerchief. We're in the same boat now.”

It’s an old trick I learned from Gerion Lannister: when you want the average Joe or Jane to co-operate with you, you make them believe that they're already in deep shit and that they asked for it when, in reality, you just forced them to do things for you.

“Do you understand?” I asked Mrs Stokeworth. When she didn’t answer, I continued. “So, you go back to the dining room and you find Cersei Lannister. You’ll recognize her - she’s blonde and she’s had one too many Martinis. You say hello and you tell her I need some fucking help in the ladies’ room. I also need them to bring the lady’s coat.”

At my request, she repeated my instructions before leaving. While I was alone with Sansa I tried to make her talk - in vain. She wouldn’t say a word to explain why she had shattered the mirror and hurt herself. It seemed obvious though - she still had feelings for Joffrey, even if he put her through the wringer. The scene with the Tyrell girl had sparked her jealousy. _How could I think she was over Joffrey?_ I thought. I was a fool.

Blount arrived with Sansa’s coat on his arm - a shiny thing that looked incongruous against his black suit - and he couldn’t help commenting on the mess Sansa had made, as if it would make her feel any better. Blount is a moron but he did help me anyway. He asked a staff member to clean the ladies’ room, told Cersei I’d take Sansa to Doctor Pycelle’s office and he fetched me the car keys.

In order to leave the restaurant without being the talk of the town, we snuck through the kitchens and headed to the back door. Later on, Blount and Trant would make sure the restaurant’s crew, from the chef to the kitchen porter, kept their mouths shut.

A minute later, we were in the car - a brand-new, black Chevrolet Bel Air - driving to the outskirts of San Diego where old Pycelle lived. I offered Sansa a cigarette - which she refused - and I lit one for myself. As the silence stretched on I resisted the urge to turn on the car radio, imagining music would only give her another reason not to speak.

And for a second I had an odd sensation, as if my mind left my body and I could see us from outside, looking through the windshield, as we sat side by side in the Chevrolet. I was driving my favorite car at the moment, the one that made my mouth water a little and never failed to bring a distorted smile to my half-burnt face when I had a chance to drive it, and next to me was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, wearing a pretty white dress that looked ethereal under the artificial light of the streetlamps.

Yet my shoulders sagged. There were blood stains on that pretty white dress and the girl had not spoken a word since I found her in the ladies’ room. Sitting up straight, she kept her eyes on the road.

“Why did you do that?” I asked suddenly.

“Does it matter, really?”

I swiveled my head and glared at her.

“I'm not going to kill myself, if that's what you think,” she said. “Can you keep your eyes on the road? _Please._ ”

Defeated, I let out a deep sigh, looked at the long street ahead and tightened my grip on the wheel.

“It was interesting, though,” she commented.

“What was interesting?”

“I finally got to see you doing your thing. Scaring people. Threatening them. Mrs Stokeworth will have quite a story to tell her grandchildren someday.”

“The kind of people I usually scare off don't wear pillbox hats.”

“Of course not. The people you usually deal with are _far more dangerous_ than Mrs Stokeworth from La Jolla.” The words were said with a twist of the mouth and I realized too late that, by underlining the oddness of the situation in the ladies’ room, I just looked like a braggart and a fool.

A snort and a short silence followed, before I spoke again. “You find me despicable, don’t you?”

“Joffrey’s despicable. Blount and Trant are despicable, in a pathetic kind of way. I wouldn’t say you’re despicable. You’re difficult to figure out.”

I hung a left. We were about a mile from Doctor Pycelle’s office. “You’re difficult to figure out, too,” I replied. “One day you talk shit about Joffrey and the next you become jealous because the little prick looks at the Tyrell girl with bedroom eyes and you slit your wrists.”

“I didn’t slit my wrists.” She sounded defiant now.

“Well, if you wanted people to think you were slitting your wrists, you did a great job.”

The little bird didn’t answer and the rest of the drive was silent.

I parked the Chevrolet in front of Pycelle’s office and she opened the door herself, without waiting for me to do it. When I followed her up the couple of stairs that led to the door she turned to tell me I could wait in the car.

“Have you never heard the rumors about Pycelle and his attraction to young women? I’m not leaving you alone with the old man. You’ll thank me later.”

Under the hazy light of the streetlamp she made a huge effort not to roll her eyes. I moved past her and knocked on the door before she had a chance to. Of course, our late visit dragged Pycelle out of his bed and he was wearing pajamas when the door opened. Had he been sharing his bed with his young and comely assistant? He didn’t look pleased until I told him that Cersei had sent us and had instructed him to stitch up Sansa’s cuts. Cersei’s name has the power to erase any sign of annoyance on people’s features. They just do what they’re told to do once they know Cersei demanded it.

Pycelle let us in and led the way to the consulting room, a rather large space with white-tiled walls and an examination table. He carefully checked Sansa’s wounds before cleaning them, humming some old song all the while.

“How did it happen?” he questioned.

“I fell,” lied the little bird, holding his gaze.

When he began stitching her up, her confidence vanished at once. Very pale, she let her eyes drift away from her wrist, biting her lip and making a point of not uttering a sound. It took a while, because several cuts needed stitches, including on her fingers. It must have been painful because she started shaking like a leaf and Pycelle had to stop until she settled down. I restrained myself from placing a hand on her shoulder. She had made it clear that she only tolerated my presence. At some point, though, the shaking came back and Pycelle asked me to hold her hand down so that he could finish his task. I remember her skin was warm. Her muscles relaxed after a while when she saw it would be over soon.

Once Pycelle declared himself satisfied with his work he started cleaning everything and deluging Sansa with instructions about stitches and hygiene. She got on her feet and sauntered around, observing the shelves and the glass cupboards where Pycelle kept his drugs, her fingers occasionally hovering over the glass wall, only half-listening to his recommendations. When the old man dropped a pair of scissors he had used, I bent over to pick it up. As I rose to my full height, the glistening of a glass door closing caught my eye but I said nothing. I let Sansa thank the doctor and apologize for the inconvenience before we headed to the door.

Once in the Chevy, I felt her eyes on me when she realized I didn’t turn the key in the ignition immediately.

“What’s in your bag?” I rasped, without even looking at her.

“I don’t...”

The flat of my hand banged against the wheel. “Stop it! What’s in your bag?” I paused, almost regretting my sudden outburst. “I saw you taking something from one of Pycelle’s cupboards.”

I heard a deep sigh, then the clicking of a clasp, before she revealed, “Barbiturate.” In her open hand were two small bottles filled with tablets.

“So the cutting wasn’t enough, huh? You’ve decided to take your-”

“I’m not going to kill myself. How many times do I have to explain this to you? Besides, Pycelle gives me as many sleeping pills as I want…”

“So these are for someone else?”

Instead of answering my question, she swept non-existing loose strands away from her face.

“Who?” I insisted. “Joffrey?”       

Still no answer. Suddenly, I remembered one of the things my father taught me and I could hear him whispering, _‘Silence means consent.’_

Fuck, killing Joffrey… I put two and two together and gasped. She told me she didn’t want to take her own life when she broke the mirror because _she didn’t really want to hurt herself_.

She wanted a good excuse to go to Pycelle’s in order to raid his cupboards.

Had the night not been so hot I would have shivered.

In her blue eyes I read boldness and surprise in equal parts - surprise because she didn’t know boldness was something she possessed.

“You can’t kill Joffrey and get away with it,” was all I was able to offer.

Another sigh - deep enough to look like a shrug.

“Are you going to tell him?” There was a hint of concern in her tone, but just a hint. “I don’t think you are. You wouldn’t talk of getting away with it if you were. So… what do you suggest?”

It was like waking up with a terrible hangover and being so foggy you hardly remember your own name. I couldn’t think straight.

In the end I mumbled something about me needing to come up with a plan as I turned the key in the ignition and we drove to the Lannisters’ in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim light of the bedside lamp. The little bird was lying on her side, her back to me, wearing only white satin, loose-fitting panties and a matching camisole. Memories of the other night came back and I felt ashamed and aroused in equal parts. My legs moved of their own accord around the bed and I took in the perfect make-up, the lace details of the camisole and the panties. A book and a bottle of sleeping pills rested on the nightstand. _She’s taken some sleeping pills_ , I thought. _I could jerk off right under her nose and she wouldn’t even notice_. However, what tempted me was something different. I wanted to touch her, to feel her skin against mine instead of just watching her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cecilia1204 edited this chapter and as always, she did a great job: thank you!  
> Warning for dub con (I think) and mentions of violence.

“I don’t mind a reasonable amount of trouble.”

_The Maltese Falcon_ , 1941.

 

Another phone call, as the shadows lengthened, dragged the little bird away from her sun lounger and book. I heard her monosyllabic answers, her fake laughter, and my shoulders sagged. The little prick wanted her pretty and already in his bed for the moment he’d honor us with his presence that night.

I heard her hang up, walk to her bedroom and quietly close the door behind her. _Fuck._ How was I supposed to focus on anything when I knew she was doing her hair and her make-up and choosing some lingerie for another man?

For a second I wished I had let her use the barbiturate on Joffrey. Then I remembered how insane her idea was. Cersei was no fool and she’d immediately suspect who had poisoned her precious son if Sansa went through with her plan. The second I heard myself telling her I’d find a better plan I knew I was making a mistake, the kind of mistake that could have me leaving this house feet first. I needed to think about it - except I wasn’t in a thinking mood. I heard the first notes of Al Hibbler’s _Unchained Melody_. Who had picked this record and placed it on the platter of the record-player? Someone with a very poor sense of humor, I’d wager.

Can anyone find a good plan at the bottom of a gin bottle? Regardless of experience, which taught me that the _worst_ plans slowly form as one pours the last drops of alcohol into their glass, I was considering getting plastered when Meryn Trant showed up with the only kind of smile I ever saw on his face - the smile of a man who rejoices in someone else’s misery.

“I found a guy!” he announced enthusiastically.

“Good for you.”

“No, you don’t understand. I found one of the guys who work for Stannis fucking Baratheon. What about asking him a couple of questions?”

Now he had all my attention.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“In the Buick. Inside the trunk.”

I briefly imagined what it was like to be trapped in the trunk of a sedan parked in the sun when the temperatures are dangerously close to 90°F, then I bolted outside. Stannis’ guy, a young, scrawny man with a neat little mustache, _à la_ Clark Gable, was all red and suffocating when I opened the trunk. He thanked me - with his eyes - for Meryn Trant had gagged him before dumping him in the trunk of the Buick.

It was foolish of him to thank me but he didn’t know what we had in store for him. After the free ride in the trunk, courtesy of Trant, we took him to the garden shed where we usually dealt with people we wanted to question. And question him, we did.

Until he couldn’t answer anymore.

Trant beat his face to a pulp, if you want to know, and the guy was in such pain in the end that I decided to finish him off, much to Trant’s disappointment. I was stealing his human plaything. We had the address of a warehouse and enough details about Stannis’ plans to please Joffrey; there was no need to make him suffer any longer.

It was pitch dark when I left the shed. A true blessing in my opinion. In the dark I didn’t have to think too much about concealing the blood on my clothes and hands.

A shower was all I wanted. I headed to my room, at the very end of the west wing of the villa, grabbed fresh clothes and walked to the nearest bathroom. For a second, as warm water engulfed my body, I imagined that the things I had seen and done were washed away along with the grime and blood. A foolish idea. If the scrapes on my knuckles were the only visible evidence of how I had spent the past few hours, the memories of what had happened in the garden shed remained. I knew they would prevent me from falling into sleep that night, and the nights to come.

Eager to tell Cersei about Stannis’ guy, I headed to the living room where she spent her evenings these days. The blonde lady of the house usually orbited the liquor cabinet and when I popped my head into the room she was playing with the crystal glass stopper of the gin bottle.

Her green eyes bored into me. “Where were you, Clegane?” she asked, reproach lacing her words.

“The garden shed, with one of Stannis’ men that Meryn Trant found God knows where.”

Her expression softened instantly. “Oh. Was this man talkative?” She closed the distance between us. “Silly question. I’m sure you turned him into a chatterbox.” With this, she smiled and patted my forearm. Her almond-shaped false nails grazed my skin as she pulled back her hand.

I gave her the details we extracted from the man and I added we’d feed the news to Joffrey first thing in the morning, or even tonight if possible.

Cersei tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and sighed. “This is why I was looking for you earlier. My son called. He changed his mind and doesn’t want the little dove in his bed when he comes back.”

“Painting the town red, huh?”

“Chasing skirt. Tyrell skirt only, alas. I hate that little bitch.” She walked towards the liquor cabinet, grabbed one of the old fashioned glasses with a diamond pattern and poured some whisky into it. She took a sip, turned to me and asked suddenly, “Why are you still standing there like a lemon? Go to Joffrey’s bedroom and take Sansa back to her bed!”

I swallowed painfully and obeyed. As I walked down the hallway, each step seemed heavier and more difficult than the last. I paused in front of Joffrey’s room and knocked. As expected, no one answered. I knocked again, waited, and finally opened the door.

It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim light of the bedside lamp. The little bird was lying on her side, her back to me, wearing only white satin, loose-fitting panties and a matching camisole. Memories of the other night came back and I felt ashamed and aroused in equal parts. My legs moved of their own accord around the bed and I took in the perfect make-up, the lace details of the camisole and the panties. A book and a bottle of sleeping pills rested on the nightstand. _She’s taken some sleeping pills,_ I thought. _I could jerk off right under her nose and she wouldn’t even notice_. However, what tempted me was something different. I wanted to touch her, to feel her skin against mine instead of just watching her.

_She’s sleeping soundly. She won’t notice. She didn’t notice the last time so…_ I walked back to the other side of the bed and without even taking my shoes off, I sat on the bed, laid down and scooted over until my body was flushed against her back. _You’re softening, Dog,_ I taunted myself, realizing I was more interested in holding her in my arms than anything. The touch of her skin, the warmth emanating from her and the contact with satin were enough. Burying my nose into her hair, I decided I was content with I had at this very moment.

There’s this quote that I heard in a movie and that stuck with me for some reason: _“What’s youth? Happy one minute, heartbroken the next.”_ Too bad I can’t remember the title. Well, it’s an accurate description of what was about to transpire.

My fingers were travelling down the soft skin of her upper arm when Sansa shuddered and mumbled something. I froze. I remained perfectly still, hoping that Pycelle’s sleeping pills would work their magic and that she’d go back to sleep. She shifted, moaned ever so slightly and called, “Joffrey?”

I panicked. How much time did she need to realize the man beside her was much taller than Joffrey? Sansa’s fingers wandered over the back of my hand and I knew I was screwed for my paws, partly covered with hair, were nothing like Joffrey’s manicured hands. Before she could call for help, I put my hand on her mouth. She flailed and kicked but eventually surrendered when I whispered my name in her ear.

“Do you promise not to shout if I let go of you?” I added.

Of course she nodded vehemently against my hand. It’s funny but when asked this question, people always nod. Slowly, I removed my hand from the lower half of her face but didn’t loosen my grip on her arm.

“What do you do want?” she asked, wriggling to turn to face me. “What are you doing?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

I let her roll on her side to face me but I kept holding her. “It’s been a long day. Trant brought back one of Stannis’ men a couple of hours ago and we questioned him. The rough way. Then Cersei told me to take you back to your room.”

A somewhat bitter chuckle escaped her lips. “Joffrey called, I bet?”

“He did.”

“Can I put something on?” She finally remembered she was half-naked in front of me.

“No,” I replied adamantly. I wouldn’t be robbed of _this_ , of seeing her like the little prick saw her whenever he snapped his fingers. I let my eyes roam over her shoulders, her throat. The cut of the camisole showed the valley of her breasts. She blushed but in the end she looked me in the eye.

“And you told yourself that, as Joffrey wasn’t interested in me anymore, you could… have your way with me?”

“It’s not -”

Had she provoked me on purpose? She took advantage of my lapse of attention to bolt out of the bed.

“Leave!” she hissed. She was already striding to the door.

“I’m not leaving.” I crawled to the footboard and snatched her wrist before she reached the door handle. “And you ain’t leaving either.”

When I dragged her towards me and snaked my arms around her waist she protested in a low voice, squirming. “Afraid of being caught by Cersei?” I taunted. She kept moving until I had no other choice but to land on my knees to keep my hold of her.

“Let go of me.” Her efforts to push me away were useless; her eyes widened and she finally stopped moving. “What do you want of me?” she asked again.

Good question. What did I want? At first, when I had seen her lying on the bed, lust had dictated my actions. Then for some reason I chose to ignore, a weird kind of intimacy had been all I cared about, until she woke up. What was it now? Why was I on my knees, arms circling her waist?

Her nipples showing beneath the satin were distracting enough, however, I took a good look at her pretty little face when I began to play with the waistband of her panties, sliding a finger between the fabric and the skin of her belly, without ever breaking eye contact. She shuddered under my touch, yet she didn’t tell me to stop. She bit her lower lip and something in her gaze changed.

“Does Joffrey do this to you?” I asked. “No? ‘Tis a shame.”

Sansa’s chest rose and fell abruptly as I slowly lowered her panties to her hips. I planted unhurried kisses on the smooth skin right above the red curls. Her hands now rested gently on my arms and in the end I can’t remember if it were my hands or hers that gave her panties the final tug.

Another kiss, almost reverent, and on the curls this time, then I asked, “Does Joffrey do what I’m about to do to you?”

She shook her head languidly, then murmured, “Do it.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

After making her sit on the edge of the bed, I spread her legs and lowered myself to kiss the skin of her inner thighs. I slid a hand underneath her buttocks. A glance at her face made me realize she restrained herself from making too much noise by biting her lip. The sight of her, eyes closed, head tilted back, only spurred me on and I licked her _there_. She was already wet and her smell was intoxicating. I tasted her as if it was the last thing I’d do before dying, going fast, then more slowly, trying to adjust to her reactions. Fingers tangled in my hair, she started bucking her hips against my face and that’s how I knew she was close.

I went on, telling myself all sorts of foolish things like _‘I’ll go to bed with her taste on my tongue’_ and _‘I’m giving the little bird the one thing Joffrey never gave her.’_ Her movements became erratic and finally she let out a soft moan, unable to control herself in her release.

We remained perfectly still for long seconds, my head resting against her lower belly and her hands in my hair, before I broke our embrace. We were both trembling. She stood up and stumbled to the spot where she had left her panties, put them back on, looking for her négligée and the other possessions she usually took to Joffrey’s bedroom.

I got to my feet with a grunt and lumbered to the door, ready to peek out into the hallway. Best to be cautious, right? She stopped me by placing her hand on my forearm.

“We’d best forget what happened. This - this will only cause trouble.”

Forget what had happened? For fuck’s sake, who did she think she was to tell me what I should forget and what I should remember?

“I’m already in trouble,” I said coldly, before checking the hallway. It was empty and I motioned her out Joffrey’s room. I remember how I glared at her back as she tiptoed down the hallway - the silly, childish reaction of the boy who’s been rejected.

Forget this?

Hell no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this fic, leaving a kudos or a comment: your support means a lot!
> 
> The movie Sandor tries to remember is a film noir, of course. It was released in 1947 and the title is _Nightmare Alley_. It’s about the rise and fall of a con man in a traveling carnival and I highly recommend it :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, that night, after Joffrey gave his orders, I got myself ready, grabbed my good old Tommy gun and hopped in one of the trucks. I didn’t know what awaited me. 
> 
> As some of Stannis’ men had been spotted on the docks, not far from two of the biggest warehouses he owned, Joffrey had assigned the task of clearing the area to me, with the help of Balon Swann and a couple of men. The plan was to climb on top of the warehouses’ roofs and to snipe at Stannis’ men from there. Except we never made it to the roofs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter beautifully edited by Cecilia1204: thank you so much!  
> Tomorrow I will start writing chapter 13 - the final chapter of this fic.  
> Warning for multiple mentions of violence and fire.

“Don’t you know what happens

to little boys who play with matches?” 

_ The Killers _ , 1946.

 

She was avoiding me. 

_ ‘What a surprise!’ _ I hear you say. Sweet Sansa Stark avoiding a man with the looks of a gargoyle and the elegance of a trooper... What was I thinking, really? That oral sex would be a game-changer and that she’d never look at me the same way?

Regardless of her shifty eyes and blatant indifference during the days that followed, I couldn't help thinking about her. And when I say I couldn’t help thinking about her, I don’t mean I pictured her naked every time I closed my eyes. I  _ did _ picture her naked, yes, but it was more than just that.  I didn't know who she was anymore. For the longest time, she had been the little bird, a sweet girl who was as unfortunate as she was pretty, who trembled like a leaf whenever I crossed her path. Now that I knew she was entertaining the dream of rubbing out Joffrey, even if it could get her killed, it seemed to me she was a whole different person.

If I looked distracted during these days, no one seemed to give a shit because they were all absorbed by the upcoming confrontation with Stannis. The man Trant had brought back to the villa and questioned - with my help - had given us information, but the things we knew thanks to him were like a trail of breadcrumbs: we had to follow it before it disappeared and we had no guarantee of finding our way back. While Cersei and Joffrey hesitated, Tyrion Lannister followed his intuition and decided to reinforce the team guarding the warehouses located near the harbor.

What Stannis wanted was crystal-clear: he said Joffrey wasn’t his brother Robert’s son and he therefore claimed Joffrey’s influence on the Metropolitan Water District of Southern California and on the San Diego Harbor, plus the whole organization for himself. Since Robert’s death he had been threatening Joffrey and the Lannisters, and now we couldn’t avoid a confrontation with him and his men. 

Joffrey kept writing Stannis off while the rest of us, Cersei included, rolled our eyes and were worried sick. Even if the little prick didn’t want to admit it, Stannis was dangerous and perhaps even more so now that his brother Renly, who used to challenge his authority, had kicked the bucket. His brother’s men had joined Stannis despite the suspicious circumstances of Renly’s death, or maybe because of them. You don’t want to cross someone whose brother has conveniently gone west and who’s always followed by the creepiest of redheads, right? This woman, Melisandre, gave us the willies.

Anyway, that night, after Joffrey gave his orders, I got myself ready, grabbed my good old Tommy gun and hopped in one of the trucks. I didn’t know what awaited me. 

As some of Stannis’ men had been spotted on the docks, not far from two of the biggest warehouses he owned, Joffrey had assigned the task of clearing the area to me, with the help of Balon Swann and a couple of men. The plan was to climb on top of the warehouses’ roofs and to snipe at Stannis’ men from there. Except we never made it to the roofs. 

One of ours nearly got killed when he got out of the truck so we forgot the plan and focused on taking them down one by one from the ground. There were only six of us against two dozen men. Some we caught, some kept escaping us - hiding behind tanks, pipes and whatever else they found - the moon being the only source of light along with a couple of street lamps, it was therefore easier for them to be inconspicuous… 

Gunshots broke the silence but the cops knew better than to show up on the docks, in spite of the many calls they probably received from the locals. You don’t meddle in the quarrels between Joffrey Lannister and his uncle, unless you want to lose your police badge. In the dark we chased those rats, pushing some of them towards the San Diego river, but there was no denying that we were outnumbered. All of a sudden, Balon Swann cursed before asking, “Where’s Joe? For fuck’s sake, where is he?”

Joe didn’t answer. 

I did find him a minute later; he was lying on the ground where I took shelter behind a couple of barrels and almost stumbled over his leg. I crouched beside him, groping around to find his pulse. There was no pulse anymore, just sticky, sweet-smelling blood on my fingers.  _ One man down, _ I thought. There were only five of us now.

More men were already coming. They circled the warehouses despite our efforts and if Salvatore’s curses on my left were any indication, one of the Lannister men was wounded. My fingers tightened around the Tommy gun and I resumed my task, taking down two men as I left my hiding place behind the barrels. Swann then showed up, confirming Salvatore was in bad shape. I told him Joe was dead.

“Fuck, I can't believe - ” He stopped short from saying more; I had spotted three of Stannis’ men and I aimed at them. Two fell.

“Are we making conversation or getting shit done?” I snarled at Swann. It was pretty unfair, because he’s always been reliable and all.

“Look at the damn warehouse!” he shouted.

I turned around and almost pissed myself. 

Plumes of smoke escaped the main door of the warehouse. Through the windows one could see the flames licking up everything inside.  _ What the hell… _

“How did these arseholes get inside without us noticing? How did they set the place on fire?” 

“Look at the car, chum. Those are not Stannis’ men.”

And Swann was fucking right. In front of the headlights of a car that looked familiar, I recognized one of the kids Tyrion Lannister had hired lately. Ignoring the smoke that now surrounded him, the kid contemplated his work as if the sight of the soon-to-be destroyed building filled him with joy. I could hardly believe my eyes. Why would he do such a thing?

“Oil?” The sounds that came from my mouth were barely human.

Swann coughed before answering. “Nope. Kerosene. I overheard Tyrion talking about it yesterday, saying he considered burning down this warehouse because it’s almost empty at moment. It’s just a trick to drive them away.”

Kerosene… The mere mention of kerosene sent a shiver down my spine. Stannis’ men would never get to the warehouses now, in any case, was what I was thinking before a screaming, panicked man ran past us, his clothes ablaze. Had he been inside the warehouse when Tyrion’s man set it on fire? As he wasn’t one of ours, we didn’t lift a finger when he rolled frantically on the ground. Still, the acidity of bile hit the back of my throat. A bunch of Stannis’ men retreated after that, but I knew some remained and we had to get rid of them.

The two Lannister men who still were able to fight joined us then. They were both quite young and the whole situation frightened them. We didn’t know their anxiety - and mine - would reach new heights soon. While Balon Swann guided the oldest towards the warehouse that was already burning down, I took the other one with me, a fellow named Danny, and we ran to the highest point between the second warehouse and the wharf - the wreck of a truck who's roof offered a pretty good view of our surroundings. If we wanted to keep Stannis’ men from approaching, we had to stay there and take aim at them. And for a couple of minutes, things weren’t going so bad. We stood back-to-back on the roof of the abandoned truck and we kept Stannis’ men at bay.

Neither of us saw it coming and when my companion yelled, I first thought someone had shot him. For a heartbeat, Danny leaned against my back, but as if his legs wobbled, not as if he was collapsing.

On my right, twenty feet away from us towards the wharf, was the kerosene kid’s car. The kid probably wanted to avoid the smoke and burning puddles he had left behind him as he left the docks except a series of gunshots slowed down his progression. More bullets suddenly shattered the windshield and the car went off course, heading dangerously towards the wreck where we stood, when a Molotov cocktail smashed the rear window and blew up the vehicle. 

“No!” Danny bellowed. The explosion drowned out his voice.

Urging him to follow me, I jumped off the truck roof and rolled on the ground while some burning remains of the car crashed into the wreck. My left ankle ached but I had no time to feel sorry for myself. Whether he had reacted a second too late or had chosen to jump on the wrong side, Danny landed close enough to the kid’s car to have his own clothes set on fire and he was now screaming helplessly. 

Once more, I grabbed my Tommy gun and I hobbled to where he lay down, rolling on his back, flailing. I watched him trying to put out the flames, knowing I should do something… 

There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you... Do your bad memories sometimes prevent you from taking action and make you feel like a cunt? 

This is exactly what happened to me because I cannot think straight when I see something on fire.  _ It all began because of the feud between Stannis and Joffrey,  _ I thought,  _ and it ends up with a warehouse in ashes, dirty puddles of oil and kerosene everywhere and people turning into human torches, and it doesn’t make sense anymore. _

Danny was still thrashing about and calling for help. Towards the burning warehouse, the gunfire kept going between Balon Swann and Stannis’ men. It was only a matter of seconds before one of those buggers tried to shoot me or Danny. I just wanted all this to stop and if I could have run away I would have. In the end, I took off my jacket and tossed it on Danny, hoping it would be enough to put out the fire. It wasn’t enough, of course, so I ended up on all fours, trying to smother the flames by hugging Danny’s shaking form and getting myself burned in the process. A bullet whistled over my head. Despite his protestations, I dragged Danny behind what had been the bumper of the truck and we hid there for some time until Balon Swann found us.

I don’t recall what happened then. There were no gunshots anymore, just the quiet weeping of Danny and a smokescreen that more or less hid the burning warehouse. And coming closer, the fire truck sirens.

When Joffrey’s car pulled over near us, I asked myself how they had gotten there despite the fire and smoke but I didn’t really care for the answer. I just had a bad feeling and I wanted to punch him in the face. Where had he been all this time? Where was he while we did our damnedest to keep the warehouses safe, losing one man after another in the process? The car window slowly lowered and Joffrey’s blonde head appeared. He had no intention of stepping out of the car, of course.

“How is it going?” the little prick asked, hiding his nose and mouth behind a cologne-scented handkerchief. The smoke, you know. Kerosene burns well but the smell is not suitable for the likes of Joffrey.

Swann mumbled something about Stannis’ men killing Joe and wounding Salvatore and Danny. Joffrey talked about Stannis’ attack somewhere else but I was hardly listening.

“Why did you set the warehouse on fire?” I demanded. “Why?”

He didn't like my tone. “Had you been more efficient, Dog, we wouldn't have set it on fire.”

Before I realized what I was doing, my hand was on the door handle. Balon Swann snatched my arm, trying to pull me away from the car and from Joffrey's contorted face.

The car door on the opposite side opened and slammed closed. It was only when the tiny silhouette of Tyrion appeared that I realized he’d been inside the car, listening to our exchange. He tried to coax me on. He had this look of pity in his eyes, because I was disheveled, because there were burns and gashes on my arms and I couldn’t stand it. When even a dwarf feels sorry for you, it’s really something, right? I don’t remember his words, but he sure tried to calm me down and send me chasing more of Stannis’ men somewhere else.

Swann wouldn’t let go of me and as I didn’t want to hurt him, I didn’t struggle too much.

“So...” Tyrion said, “Let’s do this! Let’s kick Stannis’ ass!”

“I’m not going,” I answered.

There was a silence.

“I’m not going,” I repeated, looking at Joffrey this time.

“Show some respect to your boss!” Joffrey hissed. He was still sitting in his damn car.

“Respect? What respect? Fuck you, boss!”

Balon Swann was probably too shocked to resist when I wriggled away from him and ran, as fast as I could.

* * *

You probably think I could have thumbed a ride back to the Lannisters’ instead of stealing a car. That’s right, but let’s be honest. Suppose you saw me on the side of a road, well after midnight. Would you give me a ride? Not a chance. That's why I looked for a car I could borrow, settled on a Ford Custom and drove back to the Lannisters’ villa.

The lights were out and everything was silent. I snuck inside the house and headed straight to Sansa’s bedroom. Upon entering, I silently closed the door and leaned back against it, remaining still for a couple of heartbeats, trying to make out the bed and her shape lying under the covers.

She didn’t move as I got closer and it’s only when I sat on the edge of the bed that she woke up, asking who was there. I turned on the bedside lamp.

Her eyes widened - not in panic because I was in her room in the middle of the fucking night - but more likely because of how I looked. Which at least taught me something: there’s a difference between how my ugly face looks on a good day and how it looks after the shittiest of nights. Until that night I had no idea it was possible.

“What happened?” she asked, her fingers hovering over my bruised temple.

So I told her. I told her about the attack, about Joe’s death, the kerosene, the fire everywhere and the kid’s car exploding. I told her about the man turning into a human torch and about Danny’s extensive burns. I told her what I told Joffrey after he gave me his orders. Eyes huge, she listened to me without saying a word.

“I’m done with all this shit,” I said. “I want out. I’m going to be my own master. Make my own decisions instead of doing what I’m told.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” she whispered.

My throat felt dry. I shrugged, as if this was unimportant, but you know, what I was about to offer her was and still is, the most important decision I ever made in my whole bloody life. 

“I could take you with me. Keep you safe.” I swallowed hard and I swear the smoke I had inhaled earlier had nothing to do with it. “What do you say?”

My heart was pounding in my chest as I waited for her to speak her mind. I expected either a timid ‘yes’ or, more likely, a resounding ‘no’ for she’d have been crazy to follow a man known for his blood-lust and his bad temper, but what I heard instead made me gawk.

“How?” she asked. “How are you going to leave this place? I might follow you, but I want certain guarantees before.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I headed silently towards my quarters. There’s hardly enough room for a narrow bed, a chair and a chest of drawers but I still call it my bedroom and as I moved down the hallway, all I wanted was to sprawl on the bed. I opened the door and closed it behind me with a sigh, dropping my hat and my jacket to the floor. My shoes... I couldn’t get them off quickly enough. I bent over and yanked on the shoelace before a voice startled me.  
> “I was wondering when you’d be back.”  
> Forgetting about my half-undone shoes I rose to my full height, feeling around in the dark to find the switch. The lights came on, revealing the mess of my hat and jacket lying at my feet in an otherwise tidy bedroom and Sansa Stark sitting cross-legged on the only chair. She wore a long, white robe, kimono style - one of these silky things that instantly make you wonder what’s underneath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Cecilia1204 for editing this chapter!  
> If you're still around and reading this: thank you for your patience and your support :)  
> This update is - I think - a turning point in Sandor and Sansa's relationship. Warning for some violence.

“I came here because I wanted to say

these things out loud and be laughed at.

But you’re not laughing.”

_In a Lonely Place_ , 1950.

After what I had said and done on the docks the previous night, Joffrey expected me to make amends like the obedient, ever-loyal dog he thought I was. So I made amends, beat myself up about my burst of anger and waited. Apparently he wanted to believe I had lost my shit but would quickly get a grip on myself. Despite his victory over Stannis, Joffrey couldn’t risk losing another man, so he didn’t have much choice.  He fucking needed me.

The days that followed Stannis’ attack were all about celebrating this victory - which was mostly the Tyrells’ victory. The powerful family had stepped in at the right moment, it seemed, right when Joffrey needed their help and thanks to them, his control over his father’s organization was now complete. There were a couple of celebratory dinners at the villa with the Tyrells and in the middle of the razzle-dazzle Cersei had trouble adjusting to this new situation. Her wine consumption was inversely proportional to her efforts towards the friendly Tyrell girl. The sulky queen of the San Diego underworld knew that her days were numbered. Bitten by the green-eyed monster, she considered her younger, brown-haired rival, and probably hatched some crazy plan.

Sansa’s position in the Lannister villa had become more and more precarious over the past few weeks. Unless you lived in your own fucking little bubble, there was no way of ignoring it.

During one of those dinners at the villa, I became aware that Dontos Hollard was often hovering around Sansa these days. The pot-bellied, red-nosed fool seemed to go the extra mile to make the little bird laugh. _Bullshitter,_ I thought. Ask anyone about Hollard and they’ll tell you he’s a soaker and a sissy. For these reasons, probably, we all assumed he was above suspicion and therefore no one paid attention to what was going on between these two. That being said, something was off and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Joffrey had made it clear a while ago that he had no use for Hollard and didn’t need his services anymore. So what was he doing in the villa?

I stumbled on him again a couple of days later at the villa. He was chatting with Sansa by the swimming pool when I came back from some errands downtown. Hollard quickly took his hat and walked away, casually whistling but averting his eyes as he moved past me. I did a double take, watching his heavy silhouette with sloping shoulders head towards the wreck he called his car and I decided there was something askew about him.

When I broached the subject, Sansa admitted she didn’t know why he had come to see her. He had reminded her how he appreciated her efforts to save his life, months ago, when Joffrey had almost decided to gun Hollard down because of an umpteenth blunder, and he asked her questions about how she was doing, and that was all. It didn’t look like a social call to me and that was why, later that night, I snuck out of the villa and drove to El Cajon, where I knew Hollard lived, alongside the black and latino families, the refugees from God knows where and all those who used to believe a better life awaited them in California.

According to my source, Hollard rented a room downtown, at the Saint James Hotel. The Saint James Hotel… If you picture the Hotel del Coronado with its Victorian architecture and fancy roof, because the Saint James is called a ‘hotel’ too, you got it all wrong. Maybe it was a Victorian sort of building once, but nowadays, it’s just a shithole people leave as soon as they can. I left the car across the street and got closer. The darkness had swallowed the block, but three windows were lit in the cracked, crumbling façade and despite the traffic, I could hear a baby bawling somewhere upstairs.

It took me a couple of minutes to get inside. I simply followed an old black man when he entered the building. Then I half-threatened, half-smooth-talked the guy who stood behind the counter until he told me a D.P. Hollard, who rarely paid on time, lived on the third floor. I climbed the stairs, saw the light under his door and waited in a corner. If Hollard didn’t leave his room soon, I’d knock at his door and say Joffrey or Cersei sent me. You’d never believe me if I told you how many times I used their unpredictable behavior to justify my presence somewhere and how many times people took my word for it because they’re known for acting on a whim. If Hollard left his room, however, I’d just grab my gumshoe hat and tail him through the streets of El Cajon.

I was only half-way through my second cigarette when the door opened, revealing a scruffy jacket and a worn-out hat. Hollard whistled his way downstairs without ever noticing my presence. I waited until he opened the front door to bolt out of my hiding place, hurtled down the stairs and got out of the building. I scanned my surroundings and saw him on my right, ambling down the street. I followed him from afar, not crossing the street when he did but keeping my eyes on him from the opposite sidewalk. He made a left at some point and so did I, but never did he glance over his shoulder, not even before pushing open the door of a shabby restaurant owned by Mexicans.

I watched Hollard from across the street as he made his way to one of the tables on the side of the dining room. He waited for a rather long time without ordering anything and by the waiter’s body language, I understood he only tolerated Hollard’s presence. A couple of people came in and out of the restaurant, mostly locals, but no one seemed to pay attention to Hollard. I was wondering how long before the owner kicked him out when a slender man wearing a suit a tad too fancy for the neighborhood walked into the restaurant.

Littlefinger.

_Fuck_.

What were the chances of Littlefinger and Hollard meeting fortuitously in a Mexican hole in the wall in El Cajon? None, it seemed. Littlefinger headed straight to Hollard’s table, therefore putting an end to my speculation.

Littlefinger sat with his back to me and ordered some food. I wouldn’t be surprised if the food was all for Hollard, though, as I don’t expect Littlefinger to have a taste for enchiladas, chile rellenos or anything too exotic for his delicate bowels. A couple of local guys gave me a hard look as they walked past but they knew better than to pick a fight.

Hollard and his new pal stayed inside for about twenty minutes, then Littlefinger took his wallet, paid, and walked away before the owner was done kowtowing.

Hollard remained inside. Once there was nothing left to mop up from the plate, he sat back and contemplated the cheap, garish decoration of the joint. It was later than I expected when he finally pushed himself from his seat and dragged his feet out of the restaurant. About time! I crossed the street and fell into step behind him. For some reason, the haunting rhythm of Johnny Cash’s, ‘ _Cry Cry Cry’_ was stuck in my head as I sped up. I waited until we were in a rather quiet section of the street to catch up with Hollard and push him towards a back alley. My shove knocked him off balance. With a groan he fell on all fours and slowly turned his head to see his assailant.

“What - What do you want?” he faltered. “Who are you?”

Should I put the blame on the dim light or on his nearsightedness? Who cares? Hollard didn’t recognize me until I inched closer.

“Oh, Clegane, good… I thought -”

“I don’t give a fuck about what you thought,” I said, grabbing his collar and hoisting him up. I pinned him against the wall despite his squeaking.

“Why are you here, then? What can I do for you?” His jocular tone incensed me even more.

“I want answers,” I snarled. “What are you doing with Littlefinger? Why are you hanging around Sansa Stark these days?”

At first, he denied having any agenda and he even pretended his meeting with Littlefinger at the restaurant was a fortuitous coincidence, but try slapping a liar in the face and you’ll see improvement.

“Mr. Baelish asked me to gain her trust and to convince her to run away from the Lannisters’ villa,” he finally admitted, sniffing loudly. “He said she’d be better off without them.”

“What does he want with her? Speak!”

Head tilted back against the dirty brick wall, Hollard swallowed painfully, before replying, “The obvious.”

For the first time he seemed sincere so when I pulled away from him, I made sure he didn’t fall. Still, my stomach churned and I stepped backwards until my back hit the opposite wall.

“Forget I was here,” I said. “Forget we talked. If you ever say a word about this, I’ll make sure you end up like this guy who worked for Stannis… The one Trant picked up downtown and brought back to the villa in the trunk of his car.”

Jowls trembling, Hollard nodded in agreement. I had seen enough of his greasy face so I strode to the car before driving back to the Lannisters’.

It was well past midnight when I arrived. I headed silently towards my quarters. There’s hardly enough room for a narrow bed, a chair and a chest of drawers but I still call it my bedroom and as I moved down the hallway, all I wanted was to sprawl on the bed. I opened the door and closed it behind me with a sigh, dropping my hat and my jacket to the floor. My shoes... I couldn’t get them off quickly enough. I bent over and yanked on the shoelace before a voice startled me.

“I was wondering when you’d be back.”

Forgetting about my half-undone shoes I rose to my full height, feeling around in the dark to find the switch. The lights came on, revealing the mess of my hat and jacket lying at my feet in an otherwise tidy bedroom and Sansa Stark sitting cross-legged on the only chair. She wore a long, white robe, kimono style - one of these silky things that instantly make you wonder what’s underneath.

“To what do I owe the honor?” I smirked, to hide my surprise and my embarrassment. Without asking her permission, I lit up a cigarette and took a long drag. I knew I would need something to calm my fucking nerves and to put up a front. Had you found Sansa Stark in your room after midnight, waiting for you, you would have done the same.

She uncrossed her legs and stood up. “People here thought you were in your room, but when I discovered you weren’t I remembered how you glared at Dontos Hollard earlier today. I’d say you followed him... or questioned him.”

“I’d say you’re right, little bird.” I stepped forward and so she did. In a tiny room like mine two steps seem like a long distance. We now stood close to each other.

“What did you learn? What does he want with me?”

I briefly swiveled my head not to blow smoke in her face. “The question is not ‘what does he want?’ but ‘who is he working for?’”

She crossed her arms and craned her neck to look me in the eye. “So?”

“Littlefinger.”

She closed her eyes for a heartbeat or two. “Petyr Baelish?” She cringed - you'd think she'd bitten into a sour apple. “He's always been very polite and even considerate. A tad too considerate, maybe. What does he want? Why not ask me himself?”

“He wants you to run away with him and... to offer you his protection.” No need to draw quotation marks in the air; my tone belied the last words and conveyed the right amount of irony.

Silence stretched in the room and her eyes avoided mine until she said she doubted Dontos Hollard had revealed whom he worked for off his own free will. I admitted he needed to be persuaded.

“Why did you do all this? Why bother, Sandor?”

Here was the poser. When you’ve obeyed orders for years, what makes you suddenly decide for yourself and take risks for someone else? Dough sometimes has this effect on people and many men in the underworld betrayed their bosses for the sweet rustle of greenback against greenback. I wish it was dough in my case, but I knew, and you know too by now, that dough has nothing to do with it, because I didn’t have anything to win in helping her - quite the contrary.

“I thought I didn’t care,” I croaked. Couldn’t say more. If she was smart enough, she’d fill in the blanks. I found an ashtray for my cigarette and I waited for a burst of laughter that never came. So she was not going to laugh? What the fuck was happening?

“Look at me,” she commanded softly.

I bored into her eyes. My throat was constricted. “Thought you’d take me for a fool,” I finally said.

“You might be a fool for helping me but you’re not a fool about the rest. _I_ was a fool for a long time, when I refused to see past appearances.”

She took one more step - the final step - and suddenly she was in my arms. Standing on tiptoe she gave me a kiss I returned at once. My hands ran down the sleeves of her kimono, then moved to her waist where they quickly tugged at the belt. The silky thing opened and fell to the ground, revealing her white, frilly babydoll. She cupped my face and kissed me again before I could take a good look at her long legs.

How much time did we have? Joffrey was out and Cersei was probably sleeping her wine off in her bedroom. I decided that if she didn’t take me for a fool maybe fate wasn’t playing with me either. At least that night.

My right hand rested on her thigh for a short while then wandered up to where I expected to find panties just as frilly as the babydoll. I’m by no means an expert in women’s underwear, but I thought these things were usually worn together. Underneath the babydoll, my fingers encountered nothing but the perfect curve of her arse and another of her kisses swallowed my gasp. An absence looking like an invitation, I thought.

Sansa stopped kissing me and gave me a long look. If she ever hesitated and regretted coming to my room, it was time for her to pick up her kimono and walk away, but you know what? She didn't look like she hesitated much these days and a brief nod confirmed that she knew what she was doing.

I'm not sure who guided who to the narrow bed, but I remember vividly how she straddled me when I sat down on the edge, and how she unbuttoned my shirt and my pants. _How much time do we have?_ I asked myself again and I found that I didn’t exactly know and that I didn’t care. She helped me as I pulled her babydoll over her head and when she decided to sit on my cock, I guided her, watching carefully how her eyes widened with a combination of excitement and temporary discomfort.

Time didn’t really matter once I was inside her. I knew there would be consequences - there are always consequences when you lust for your boss’ girlfriend, even though he deserted her. My life expectancy dropped the second I took an interest in the little bird.

What did she say earlier? _“You might be a fool for helping me but you’re not a fool about the rest.”_ I clung to that idea as I shifted to lay her down on the bed and to cover her body with mine.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While she talked, saying she missed me and thought it was best not to talk to each other at the Lannisters’, I began thinking about her lips. Those full lips opening and closing slowly next to the phone receiver. In my head it looked like one of those perfect close-ups you see in movies, when a female character is on the phone and the words forming on her perfect lips can save or end someone's life. And I couldn't decide if she was saving my life or ending it. And I didn't care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Cecilia1204 for betaing this chapter!  
> No special warning this time: I kept this update short and - mostly - sweet.

“Life’s a ball game. You gotta take a swing at whatever

comes along before you find it’s the ninth inning.”

 _Detour_ (1945).

  


When I woke up the next morning, the only company I found was the little bird’s scent lingering on the sheets and a fifteen-word note: _I want to see you again but not here. Will call you to make arrangements._

 _Arrangements_? Who did she think she was? Was this some sort of game to her? I nonetheless agreed on one point: it was dangerous to see each other in the villa. Another night like the previous one could get us killed.

As if nothing had happened, I got ready and headed to the kitchen for the breakfast of champions: a cup of hot coffee and the first cigarette of the day. I had my coffee and cigarette under the porch, staring at the Cape chestnut and the agaves while Boros Blount and Meryn Trant had a shouting match about Rocky Marciano and the upcoming end of his career. A nice start to the day. As if nothing had happened, I tell you. Everything seemed too perfect to be true until I walked back inside and overheard a troubling conversation.

Cersei had told me the day before she wanted me to drive downtown and to go around to all the restaurants and stores of Cortez Hill and Little Italy that owed her money. Boros Blount swore to God she had changed her mind and wanted _him_ to go instead, but I needed to be sure. Leaving Blount and Trant yelling at each other, I strode down the hallway, hoping to find Cersei in the office and stopped short of knocking when I heard her voice hitting the high note.

“Tyrion? Tyrion, really?”

Her brief, almost nervous laughter conveyed her disbelief - even through the closed door.

“Yes. It’s more than time for Tyrion to tie the knot.”

I would recognize the deep voice, caressing like a purring engine, anywhere. The tone of a man who doesn’t need to raise his voice to be understood and obeyed. Tywin Lannister was here and since it was only eight in the morning, it must have been important. _Why is he here?_

“Don’t you see?” Tywin went on. “Joffrey is free to marry whomever he wants - be it the Tyrell girl or someone else. We keep the Stark assets, which were our priority. Tyrion finally gets married.”

 _Tyrion marrying… Sansa?_ My heart skipped a beat.

“And you, my dearest daughter, get to marry the pretty Tyrell boy. The one who looks like a gigolo.”

“So, what? The whole Lannister family gets a happy ending? Tyrion and Sansa sleep in twin beds, just like couples do in corny comedies, and Loras and I follow suit? Closing credits.” No answer came. “Is it a joke?” Cersei insisted as if she could read my mind. “Me marrying Renly Baratheon’s favorite? The little dove marrying my… gargoyle of a brother? I have no sympathy for Sansa but this - ”

“Precisely. We have no sympathy for the Stark girl. And she’s lucky I didn’t listen to Petyr Baelish, who had plans for her, apparently. Tyrion’s no Prince Charming but, you know, it won’t be that bad if she quits wearing heels...”

The whole exchange baffled me and I decided it was best to leave before they noticed my presence. I remember lumbering back to the kitchen, grabbing the already crumpled newspaper and reading it without retaining anything. Letters danced before my eyes but it didn’t make any sense. Nothing made sense if Sansa married the Imp, or rather, it justified my idea of running away with her.

When Tywin Lannister left the office, he went to the kitchen greeting me and the two morons. Of course I looked at him straight in the eye, because it's important to look in the eye the man who puts creases in your pants. If his exchange with his daughter about the future weddings ever troubled him, his face didn't express it. His face didn't express anything, to be honest, apart from the contentedness of being a Lannister and owning San Diego.

* * *

Later that same day, I paid a courtesy call to the owner of a restaurant not far from Balboa Park. Things were going pretty well, as the man complied when I announced how much money Cersei demanded, but our nice little conversation was interrupted when the phone rang. The barman, a young guy with bushy eyebrows and slicked-back hair, picked up the phone and after a couple of non-committal answers, looked hesitantly in our direction. What was this? Was the owner, a scrawny little man in his forties, going to answer the call and waste my time?

“I said we didn’t want to be interrupted,” the owner spat.

 _Good boy._ His submissiveness delighted me. The barman’s eyes widened and he shook his head vehemently. “No, of course not, boss. But this is a call for Mr. Clegane. From Mrs. Cersei Lannister. So I thought -”

“You thought right.” I rose, walked to the counter and, leaning against it casually, grabbed the receiver. What did Cersei want now? The barman returned to his spot behind the counter to wipe the glasses with a cloth.

I took a deep breath. “Yes, Ma’am?”

“Sandor, finally.”

My heart skipped a beat and my throat probably emitted the strangest of sounds, for the barman, who stood opposite me, gave me a quizzical look. Cersei rarely, if ever, addressed me by my first name. It wasn’t Cersei’s voice, anyway, but Sansa’s musical tone. Why was she calling me? And how did she know where I was? Another suspicious gaze from the barman and I collected myself.

“Can’t really talk now… Ma’am. I’m in the middle of something.” My last words raised the barman’s eyebrows.

“Maybe… maybe you don’t need to talk, Sandor. Just listen to me and try to… retain what I’m going to say. Can you do that?”

“Of course, I can.”

As soon as she started giving me instructions for where to meet outside of the villa, I snapped my fingers to get the barman’s attention and mimicked the movement of a pen gliding across a piece of paper. He handed me a pencil and a notepad with the name of the restaurant on the bottom right corner. Sansa gave me an address to pick her up the next day.

While she talked, saying she missed me and thought it was best not to talk to each other at the Lannisters’, I began thinking about her lips. Those full lips opening and closing slowly next to the phone receiver. In my head it looked like one of those perfect close-ups you see in movies, when a female character is on the phone and the words forming on her perfect lips can save or end someone's life. And I couldn't decide if she was saving my life or ending it. And I didn't care. A moment with her was worth risking a life of lousy missions such as racketeering restaurant owners who shit their pants when Cersei visited their place in person.

So I carefully wrote down the instructions Sansa gave me. On the note she had left for me in the morning, she talked about ‘arrangements’ and I remembered how it incensed me earlier because of its girlishness. Somewhere along the line, between the jangle of the telephone and the moment I started writing down her instructions, it had stopped sounding girlish and I scolded myself internally for losing my temper about it. How she had managed to get access to a phone remained a mystery to me. She was taking a risk by calling me and pretending she was Cersei and if she got caught, it could be pretty bad for her.

I was game.

I was more than game if the little bird wanted to play with me.

Ready to go all in.

“You wish is my command, Ma’am,” I said finally, before hanging up. I was quite pleased with myself and the young barman’s perplexed gaze helped me realize my lips were curved into a half-smile.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I turned my head to the side and took in the naked curves of the woman lying on her stomach next to me, her tousled red hair partly covering her pale shoulders. My eyes traced down her spine until they reached her lower back, then wandered up to her round arse.  
> Damn it, she was beautiful.  
> Somewhere outside a police siren resounded. It reminded me that a world existed beyond the four walls of this hotel room.  
> “What’s next?” asked a voice emerging from behind the messy red hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, Cecilia1204 skillfully edited this chapter: thank you, dear!  
> I'm going away for two weeks and I won't be able to post again before going back home but I'll do my best to answer your comments as soon as possible.

“You’d think a bell would’ve rung or you’d think

I’d have some instinct of warning. But I didn’t.

           I just walked right into it.” _Gilda_ , 1946.

The note folded in half and tucked in the inside pocket of my jacket was worth ten grand. Or so it seemed to me. It was just a couple of instructions, written hastily with a wooden pencil, but when I reread the note again, I almost liked my barely legible handwriting and the cheesy blue and red logo of the restaurant in the bottom right corner. It was a promise, you see. Perhaps the first one in a very long time I wanted to believe in.

* * *

I was exhausted and drained and happy. In a matter of minutes, the beads of sweat damping my forehead would disappear and the fatigue would go away. However, the swelling of my heart would remain for a long time, perhaps until my last breath.

Sansa’s perfume filled the air.

I turned my head to the side and took in the naked curves of the woman lying on her stomach next to me, her tousled red hair partly covering her pale shoulders. My eyes traced down her spine until they reached her lower back, then wandered up to her round arse.

Damn it, she was beautiful.

Somewhere outside a police siren resounded. It reminded me that a world existed beyond the four walls of this hotel room.

“What’s next?” asked a voice emerging from behind the messy red hair.

“Give me five and I’ll be ready for a second round.” I placed my arms behind my head.

She laughed. “I’ll be ready when you are, but that’s not what I meant. What’s next for us? What’s your plan?”

If she was growing impatient she didn’t show it as she propped herself up on her elbows, smiling at me. It unhinged me all the same because there was no fucking plan, just the urgency of doing something before it was too late and they married her off to the Imp. Something she wasn’t even aware of. 

“I dunno. You said you wanted some guarantees before leaving. What are these guarantees? Because we’d better hit the road and soon.”

She flipped onto her side, covering herself with the starched white sheets. “Tyrion Lannister might help me,” she said.

Despite her casual tone, her answer was like a bombshell. Tyrion Lannister again? Did he know his father wanted to marry him to Sansa? Was he playing with Sansa like cats play with mice?

“You need to be careful,” I warned her.

“I am careful. He’s the only one who can and will help us because he hates Cersei. Sometimes I wonder if he doesn’t hate her more than I do.” Her gaze drifted to the elaborate molding on the ceiling. As I remained silent, my eyes fixed on her, she finally swiveled her head towards me. “What’s wrong?”

I tried to deny it and to reassure her, in vain. She inched closer, the sheets tucked under her arms as she leaned over me. “Speak. Tell me.”

Her blue eyes bored into mine and there was nothing to do except surrender.

“I heard them,” I said. “Tywin and Cersei, talking in the study. They’re going to make you marry Tyrion, so that they can keep controlling you and Joffrey gets to marry whoever he wants, probably that Tyrell girl.”

She grew pale and her fingernails dug deep in the flesh of my upper arm. When I wrapped my arms around her she offered no resistance and snuggled up to my chest.

“Wh- when?” she stammered, her breath tickling my neck. “When did you hear them?” she asked in a shattered kind of voice.

“Yesterday morning.”

“And you kept it to yourself? You didn’t tell me?”

I was at a loss. “You said we shouldn’t talk, that it wasn’t safe,” was all I found after racking my brains.

A sad little laugh escaped her lips. “I guess something like this was bound to happen. No one escapes the Lannisters, right?”

“We might have a chance, if we act quickly. Maybe asking Tyrion for help is not a good idea. We don’t know if he’s aware of his father’s plan, but if he is, he might want to marry you.”

A drop falling on my chest, followed by a sniffle, told me she was crying.

“What do you suggest?” she asked.

“We don’t tell anyone. The guarantees you’re looking for are probably in the safe in Cersei’s study. We need to find the code quickly if we want to open it, or else we just run away when we get the opportunity.”

“The Tyrells are throwing a party next Friday. Looks like the right moment.”

I tightened my embrace and kissed the crown of her head, thinking about that second round we had almost promised each other earlier. _Maybe_ _she'll_ _make_ _the_ _first_ _move_ , I thought. She didn't, and we got dressed soon after. It felt like a hangover, minus the booze-induced headache.

She looked defeated as we walked down the hallway to the elevator, and one would have thought she had left something precious in the hotel room. Inside the gilded cage of the elevator she remained silent for the most part, opening her pretty mouth only when the bell rang, informing us we had reached the lobby.

“So I guess I will have to sneak out of the Tyrell house during their party?”

We stepped out of the elevator. The lobby had been redecorated lately and whoever had done it wanted people to fucking notice it: the floor and walls were tiled in brownish marble, and a massive crystal chandelier dazzled the guests. The opulent decor didn’t interest us though - we headed straight to the service entrance, Sansa almost running into a maid.

“Probably. I'll take you back to the Lannisters’, you get what you need from the safe and we run away.”

“We should go North, all the way to the border.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed, pushing the door open and sticking my head out to make sure no one was waiting for us in the alley. It was all clear but it was raining and I wondered when it had started. Rain showers were more frequent in the place where I grew up than in San Diego during this season. I mechanically turned up the collar of my jacket, stepped forward and beckoned Sansa to follow me. We ran to the end of the alley, the little bird doing her best to avoid the puddles and my heart swelled again when she emitted a tiny laugh.

Out of breath and soaked, we stopped near the Chevy I had smuggled out of the garage to whisk Sansa away that day. I fumbled in my pockets for the car keys, eyes fixed on the rear window where raindrops formed rivulets so I didn’t see a silhouette coming closer until it was standing near the hood of the car.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, chum.”

I looked up and saw the only person who called me _‘chum’_ , the burly Balon Swann, hunching his broad shoulders under the rain and carrying a parcel. His eyes moved between me and Sansa, whose back stiffened immediately.

“Miss Stark,” he greeted her.

She let out a feeble answer and gazed at the puddle at her feet.

“What are you doing here?” I asked Swann, without answering the question his words implied.

“Was with Joffrey at City Hall. He sent me on an errand for some upcoming party. I'm not sure what this is for… I just know that I'm paid to collect a parcel in an antique store. An antique store…” he sighed, shaking his head and glaring at the parcel. “As if antique stores were my department!” He paused. “What about you, chum?”

Sansa and I exchanged glances. “Wouldn't be nice to leave the young lady in the rain,” I growled, opening the car door and holding it for her.

Once she was safely inside, I closed the door, met Swann's eyes and shrugged. “Same as you. We were running errands for the little bird, because of this damn party.”

“Without an umbrella or any bags?” he laughed.

I said nothing but a glance at my surroundings sent a shiver down my spine. Except for the damn antique store with its fancy sign fifty yards away, there wasn't a single store in the street. We looked at each other and Balon Swann’s smile vanished. In his eyes I read disbelief, then suspicion and finally uncertainty because he knew I had done something wrong and he knew Sansa was involved, but he didn’t know what to do with this information.

Swann is nothing like Trant or Blount, so he didn’t accuse me, didn’t pounce on me nor threaten the little bird. He simply said something about the shitty weather and got back to his car, yet I knew that, _chum_ or not,  the guy had Sansa’s life and mine in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for still being here :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balon Swann looked at me across the small kitchen table. “What’s going on with Sansa Stark? Are you two - ”
> 
> “Yes,” I cut him off. There were only two questions he could have in mind at this point: _‘Are you two sleeping together?’_ and _‘Are you two in love?’_. I wasn’t sure how I would react if he voiced out loud what I had kept to myself so far. It made everything too real for my liking. Anyway, the correct answer to both questions was a straightforward ‘yes’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Cecilia1204 who edited this chapter!
> 
> Sorry for the delay... I'm re-reading the two last chapters and editing them before sending them to my beta reader so I should be able to update again soon.

“Hate is a very exciting emotion.

Haven’t you noticed it? Very exciting.” 

_ Gilda _ , 1946.

 

Five days. 

We had five days to discover the code to the safe in the study and to prepare the details of our escape - like the safest route to the Canadian border. I decided to believe Tywin would not marry his younger son to Sansa before the party at the Tyrells’ - mostly because Cersei made calls to a florist and her favorite milliner for what she referred to as a  _ ‘special occasion in three weeks’ time’ _ . That being said, even if there were little to no chance that Sansa and Tyrion walk to the altar before we ran away, the memory of our fortuitous meeting with Balon Swann was enough to scare me stiff.

I decided to take the bull by the horns and to go to his place after Joffrey told me he didn’t need me for the rest of the day. It was about 9 PM when I arrived in the quiet suburb where Balon Swann lived and the swishing of sprinklers on the grass was somewhat soothing. He opened the door and, avoiding my eyes, he beckoned me inside. We sat in the kitchen where he offered me some scotch.

Small talk is quite difficult when one doesn’t want to cooperate, and you can imagine I didn’t want to waste my time with shitty commentary about the weather and such. Probably annoyed by my non-committal answers, Swann took a sharp intake of breath and asked bluntly, “Why did you come?”

“I think you know why.” Keeping my head down, I swirled the scotch in my glass. It almost smelled like a cigar box, a pretty decent scotch, in my opinion. You see, everything about Balon Swann is decent and that’s why guys like him are so fucking annoying.

He looked at me across the small kitchen table. “What’s going on with Sansa Stark? Are you two - ”

“Yes,” I cut him off. There were only two questions he could have in mind at this point: ‘Are you two sleeping together?’ and ‘Are you two in love?’. I wasn’t sure how I would react if he voiced out loud what I had kept to myself so far. It made everything too real for my liking. Anyway, the correct answer to both questions was a straightforward ‘yes’.

He almost seemed to blush before nodding and draining his scotch. “So what now, chum?”

“Did you tell anyone?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Of course not. They would kill you and your dame. Still… what do you intend to do?”

“We need to hit the road but it’s best if you don’t know too much about it. I won’t tell you when or where we intend to go.”

He offered me more scotch, which I refused, and poured some in his own glass. “That makes sense. Your secret is safe with me. If I can help, though…”

“I appreciate it.” 

I stood up, irritated because my words sounded empty and couldn’t quite convey my gratitude and my relief. Balon Swann seemed a bit embarrassed too when he walked me to the door. We shook hands on the porch.

“I’ve got your back,” he said.

If he added anything, the gurgling of the sprinklers drowned it out. I got in the car, turned the key in the ignition and pulled out onto the road. As I drove away, I glanced at the reflection of the neat little bungalow in the rear-view mirror. The porch light was still on. We never thought we were friends, Swann and I, but wasn’t this what friends were supposed to do: talk, even if there were embarrassing silences sometimes, and have each other’s back? I sighed heavily. Wasn’t it ironic that I realized Swann and I could have been good friends when I was planning to run away? 

* * *

Cersei had been appealing for information as to Jaime’s whereabouts for a long time, so when he showed up unexpectedly the next morning and rang the door of the villa, all those who worked for the Lannisters thought she’d be on cloud nine. And she was. For, like, five minutes.

Jaime had been declared MIA during the fights between us and the Stark family, months ago. Snitches had told us he was locked up somewhere, then there had been rumors about him being wounded but nobody could locate him. The reunion of the Lannister siblings quickly turned sour because of three little details that didn’t sit well with Cersei.

First of all, Jaime returned to her thanks to Roose Bolton, who sent one of his men, Steelshanks Walton, to escort him safely to San Diego. The blonde lady of the house called Bolton at once on the pretext of thanking him and she questioned him about the circumstances of Jaime’s return. The second she hung up, she hurled a damned good crystal vase against the wall.

“Bastard!” she hissed. “He thinks he makes himself indispensable!”

Jaime shook his head. As for myself and the other person who was there in the study, we contemplated what remained of the vase. Steelshanks Walton didn’t witness the whole scene; Balon Swann had been asked to take Roose Bolton’s man into town and find a room for him.

Cersei gathered her composure and then addressed the second issue. She flounced to the corner of the room where Jaime stood, stopped abruptly and, after smoothing the creases of her full skirt, looked at her brother’s wrist. “What happened to your hand? Who did this? I want Clegane to punish whoever did this!”

“Some crazy, fat guy chopped it off. My captor, Vargo Hoat, wanted to double-cross Roose Bolton and to put the blame on him, so he asked this stupid fellow to cut off my hand. Roose Bolton is a pooper but he has nothing to do with this. As for the man who cut my hand, I don’t know where he is.”

It hardly pacified her - her cheeks were almost as red as her dress. “What about... her?” she asked, pointing at the person who was standing by my side. 

Tall, muscular, wearing a shapeless man’s shirt, wide-leg pants and work boots, the woman on my right was the exact opposite of Cersei and the last reason why she was pissed - because she had escorted Jaime and he seemed to enjoy her company. Her blond hair was cropped. It had nothing to do with those French actresses who chop their hair to show off. You could tell she was her own personal hairdresser and didn’t give a fuck if people made fun of her looks. She blushed a little under Cersei’s scrutiny.

“My name is Brienne Tarth, ma’am,” she said, her voice a little deeper than what I expected.

“She saved me,” Jaime added, without the slightest hint of teasing. Call me unobservant - it was only when he uttered those words that I noticed how the past few months, far from San Diego and his family, had etched deep lines on Jaime’s face. The shadows under his eyes made him look ten years older and his temples were going gray. 

There was silence at first. I think Cersei and I gave Jaime the same look of surprise, because we were anticipating a joke that didn’t come. If Cersei’s brother was known for being the best shot in California, people also praised his wit. His smile and his good looks sweetened the pill whenever he made fun of one of us and nobody held it against him because it was Jaime Fucking Lannister.

At that very moment, as I tried to find an answer on his face, I wondered if his sense of humor had disappeared the day he lost his hand. The more I thought about it, the more obvious it was: the man who had been returned to his family was quite different to his former self.

When Balon Swann came back, saying Steelshanks Walton was settling in to his hotel room, Cersei ordered him to find a place for Brienne Tarth. Jaime protested, saying the villa was big enough and she should have one of the guest rooms. The conversation became heated and that was when I decided to take Swann and Brienne Tarth out of the study and sent them on the hunt for a cozy little bungalow for Jaime’s new pal. Meanwhile, I made phone calls and inquired about Roose Bolton’s intents and about a Vargo Hoat. Between phone calls I pricked up my ears - things weren’t going well in the study next door. I thought the golden twins would make up in bed because that was typical of them. There was only a mere sofa in the room, but in the past they had disregarded any such details. However, the sounds that were coming from the study were only angry shouts.

Someone rang the bell and I heard Senelle opening the front door. She told the mysterious visitor that they would have to wait in the living room and Mrs. Lannister would see them later. Since the prodigal son was back, I half-expected to see Tywin Lannister, but Senelle would never let the patriarch wait in the living room… 

My phone calls could wait. I decided to see who it was so I walked down the hallway to the where Senelle had left the visitor. A dark-haired man of slender build was sitting on a massive upholstered armchair that made him look even shorter.

“Well, good morning Clegane,” Littlefinger said.

I mumbled something between a ‘hello’ and a ‘fuck off’. It was the first time I had seen him since the night I followed Dontos Hollard to the Mexican joint where he met Littlefinger. I didn’t feel like feigning courtesy. “What do you want?” I asked.

He rewarded me with his most cunning smile. “I heard Jaime Lannister has returned and I’d like to greet him myself.” 

“This is not a good time. Come back later.” 

When he got to his feet I told myself I’d gladly walk him to the door but he surprised me by heading towards the fireplace instead and grabbing a statuette on the mantelpiece. 

“For some reason I don’t quite understand,” he began, examining the statuette, “a person who used to do me a favor every once in a while ended our association. Do you know anything about it?” He replaced the statuette on the mantelpiece and his eyes bore into mine.

“How the fuck would I? I don’t give a shit about your business.”

“On the contrary. You do, Clegane, and you know who I’m talking about - Dontos Hollard. You scared him out of his wits!”

I smirked, but not because Hollard was scared. Seeing the pissed look on Littlefinger’s face put me in a good mood. 

He probably thought I was making fun of him, for he said, “This is all you’ve ever done, squaring your shoulders and scaring people! Beating them. Murdering them upon request. Never using your brains. I pity you!”

I could have jumped on him and pinned him to the ground - I think that’s what he expected of me - but instead, I closed the distance between us, looking down at him.

“You know, when my job makes me feel like crap, I think of you and it cheers me up.” His eyes narrowed and he made a tremendous effort not to let his chin tremble. “Besides... you should be careful when you talk to a man who doesn’t use his brains, only his fists.”

His chest was heaving up and down in a steady rhythm, although he never broke eye contact. After a moment, he whispered, “Suppose - ”

“Suppose you leave right now.”

I glared at him - something that didn’t require the slightest effort when facing Littlefinger - and he finally stepped back before turning around and heading out of the living room, straight to the front door. From the porch, I enjoyed watching him leave in his attention-grabbing coupé.  _ Good riddance. _

Then I remembered. The phone calls regarding Roose Bolton and this Vargo Hoat. Cersei and Jaime were still in the study and the program didn’t include a reconciliation, if the shouting was any indication. I walked past the study door and entered the small office where I made phone calls. Before I could pick up the phone and decide whose number to ask the operator for, the door opened and Sansa snuck in.

“What are you doing here?” I mouthed. With Cersei next door, paying me a visit wasn’t a good idea.

She closed the door behind her as quietly as possible and leaned against it as if her lithe frame could prevent anyone from forcing the door open.

“Are they still arguing?” she asked in a whisper.

At that very moment Jaime’s indistinct shouting answered her question. We both looked towards the wall that separated the room we were in from the study. Cersei shouted back and all of a sudden, we heard Jaime’s voice.

“This is over!” he yelled at his sister.

The sound of the door being flung open and then slammed shut made the little bird flinch.

Jaime’s footsteps hurried down the hallway. My eyes finally met Sansa’s and for a moment we didn’t dare talk, listening carefully. Then Sansa swallowed hard and opened her mouth, before biting her lower lip.

“Can this - ” she finally asked. “Can this be good for us?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for still being here :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Tonight’s the night._
> 
> I had whispered those words into Sansa’s ear before we left the villa, when everyone was busy getting either in the Chevrolet Bel Air or the Cadillac. Now that we were at the Tyrells’ and the party was in full swing, I could only hope to meet her eyes from across the patio. The little bird looked lovely in her dark blue dress and after her first drink, she relaxed a bit. She even laughed at one of Olenna Tyrell’s quips. Whatever awaited us later that night, she’d better enjoy herself before we ran away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, Cecilia1204 edited this update and she did a fantastic job: thank you!
> 
> Warning for violence.  
> This is the second-to-last chapter of _One Little Slip_ and you can expect the same amount of darkness you'd find towards the end of a film noir movie. Consider the quote from _Out of the Past_ at the beginning of this chapter as a warning.

“That’s not the way to win.

\- Is there a way to win?

\- There’s a way to lose more slowly.” 

_ Out of the Past _ , 1947.

_ Tonight’s the night.  _

I had whispered those words into Sansa’s ear before we left the villa, when everyone was busy getting either in the Chevrolet Bel Air or the Cadillac. Now that we were at the Tyrells’ and the party was in full swing, I could only hope to meet her eyes from across the patio. The little bird looked lovely in her dark blue dress and after her first drink, she relaxed a bit. She even laughed at one of Olenna Tyrell’s quips. Whatever awaited us later that night, she’d better enjoy herself before we ran away.

The smell of menthol cigarettes roused me from my thoughts.  _ Cersei. _ Our big-league blonde materialized at my side, a long, thin cigarette wedged between the second and the third finger of her manicured hand. The cigarettes were for getting rid of the alcohol breath and the menthol was supposed to hide the smell of tobacco. It didn’t work too well.

“Have you seen Jaime?” she asked.

“Nope.”

She sighed deeply. “I made sure he got an invitation and all. He _should_ be here. People need to see that he’s back.”

Since their quarrel in the study, Jaime had taken a motel room in the vicinity of Balon Swann’s house. While Cersei slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke, tilting her chin up slightly, I took in her sophisticated makeup and the costly red dress she wore. Sansa and I weren’t the only ones who were fool enough to think this night could change everything. 

“Do you want me to fetch him?” I suggested.

Distracted by the modulation of the trumpet - the jazz band hired by the Tyrells was now playing  _ Autumn Leaves _ \- she didn’t answer at first, letting her green eyes drift over the guests, wearing either black tie or colorful dresses, and further, to where the musicians stood. “No,” she said softly. “Call him, maybe.”

At this very moment she looked so fragile I felt sorry for her. She took a long drag of her cigarette, straightened her shoulders and almost blew the smoke into my face. 

“Call him,” she repeated. “Tell him that I want him here in fifteen minutes or else…”

I waited for her to finish her sentence but whatever threat she was thinking about caught in her throat.

“Just call and make sure he comes,” she resumed, before walking away.

I got back inside, found a telephone and asked the operator to connect me to a taxi company then to the Sunset View Motel, where Jaime was staying. I did my best to convince Jaime to come. At first, he refused and I had to insist until he gave in and said he would take a taxi.

“No need to call one. There’s a cab waiting for you outside the motel as we speak.”

He hung up first. When I turned around to get back to the patio, I saw Margaery Tyrell leaning against the door frame in her green bustier dress. How long had she been listening to my conversation with Jaime?

“Trouble in paradise?” she asked. Her smug smile annoyed me. “Cersei is  _ sooo _ relieved now that her brother is back, but why isn’t he partying with us?”

I ignored her question and headed straight to the kitchen where guests ordered their drinks. I could use a double bourbon.

Fifteen minutes later, as the jazz band started to play  _ Cerezo Rosa _ , Jaime Lannister made his first public appearance since his return to San Diego and it was quite a dramatic entrance, for he was not alone. Brienne Tarth was with him, wearing her very own version of an evening dress: ironed, wide-legged pants and a crisp white shirt. At first people stopped talking and dancing. Some whispered. Under their scrutiny, Brienne did her best to keep her composure. All of a sudden, Loras Tyrell pushed his way to Brienne and shouted, “Murderer! You killed Renly!”

_ Fuck _ . I had heard rumors about Renly's death and a strange woman being accused but I didn't know Brienne was  _ that  _ woman.

Before any of us could move, Loras pounced on Brienne and administered a violent punch to her chin. She staggered back and did her best to hold his arm. The musicians stopped playing at once. As I crossed the room, Jaime clutched at Loras’ shoulder without success and I had to grasp the Tyrell boy by the waist in order to separate them. He flailed and kicked me in the shin, probably spurred on by the female guests who gasped in terror. 

Gazing at the Tyrell boy with a look of utter shock on her face, Brienne leant against the wall, holding her jaw. Jaime murmured something to her, yet she didn't seem to be listening. Margaery Tyrell planted herself in front of me, talking to her brother in a low voice then leading him away from the patio.

“Trouble in paradise, huh?” I shouted as she supported her brother by his arm to help him walk. She glanced at me over her shoulder, her pretty face suddenly red, and didn’t answer.

When I looked at Brienne and Jaime again, they were with Sansa, who was taking a good look at Brienne’s jaw. I got closer, in time to hear Brienne say, “Let’s find a quiet place.” Her eyes narrowed when she saw me close by. Dogs weren’t allowed in the quiet place, you see. Sansa gave me a sheepish look and briefly opened her mouth, before closing it again.  _ Save your breath, girl, _ I thought. She gave up and followed Brienne inside. 

I decided to stay with Jaime for the next few minutes. Some of the guests greeted him until Cersei showed up and I thought it best to give them some space. I was on my way to the kitchen, determined to order another bourbon, when Brienne ran into me.

“We need to talk,” she announced, standing in my way. 

“I don't have anything to say to you.” 

“On the contrary.” 

I stepped to the right but she mirrored my movement. We were now standing toe to toe and I had a pretty good view of the freckles that covered her nose. She didn’t seem ready to lower her eyes or to back down, so I let her lead me towards a small room, which happened to be a library.

She closed the door behind us. “We need to discuss the reason I came to San Diego. This, and what you intend to do.”

I froze. What did that ugly woman know about my plan? I instinctively touched my shoulder holster.

Brienne closed the distance between us and I realized how strange it was to meet a woman almost as tall as me. “I came here because I promised the late Catelyn Stark I would find her daughter and take her somewhere safe. I didn't know someone else had more or less the same plan. Sansa just told me.”

For long seconds I pondered her words and said nothing. If Brienne was ready to take Sansa away from San Diego and protect her, it meant the little bird didn't need me anymore. Not to mention that Catelyn Stark had given Brienne her blessing, and therefore I couldn’t compete with her... That damn woman showed up and suddenly I was useless.

The more I thought about it, the more I questioned Sansa’s behavior lately: the kisses, the game of seduction over the phone, the secret trysts. If the little bird really wanted to run away with me, she would have kept her mouth shut about our plan. Her confiding in Brienne proved only one thing: I was a bloody fool, swayed by a skirt.

I let out a bitter laugh. “It’s so much better for her to run away with someone recommended by her dead mother, right? So, what? You're going to take her away tonight? I guess I need to step aside, now that you’re here.” 

Brienne frowned. The door clicked open and Sansa came in. She must have heard my last words because she looked at me intently and said, “I told Brienne I was leaving with you. No offense, Brienne.”

“None taken.” The outraged look on Brienne’s face belied her words.

It took me a while to process Sansa’s decision. She chose  _ me _ . Me, the ill-tempered, infamous Hound. Someone serious, recommended by her dead mother, offered to take her away from the Lannisters yet she picked someone with a questionable reputation. She was either in love or completely nuts. I realized I didn’t care if it was the latter.

Sansa bit her lip. “We could use some help though,” she added, still gazing at me. The little bird was right of course, but her remark stuck in my throat. I didn’t want anyone's help, I wanted to do it all on my own. Now I know I was wrong.

“And what are you going to tell your beau when the little bird escapes?” I taunted Brienne.

“My  _ beau _ ?” 

“Don’t tell us you and Jaime are just pals.”

“We are!” Brienne’s prominent teeth flashed briefly as she protested. “Jaime doesn’t have to know. Besides, he’s at odds with Cersei about - about everything. I’m not even sure he would be opposed to Sansa leaving San Diego. He just needs the final push.”

“Jaime might have changed, but he’s a Lannister,” Sansa replied, folding her arms. “I don’t see him betraying Cersei. I won’t take any chances.”

Coming from the girl who was ready to trust Tyrion only days ago, it was pretty ironic. I nonetheless kept my mouth shut.

“Can you make sure that nobody follows us while we go back to the Lannister villa?” Asking that damn woman’s help annoyed me, but the little bird was worth the effort.

“Going back to the villa now is a pretty stupid move...” Brienne commented. “... and you wouldn’t do it unless you want something you can only find there… dough?”

Sansa shook her head. “A pile of documents, contracts and such, Cersei made me sign when I thought they would let my father go. I will need them.”

“You know the combination of the safe?” Brienne looked so impressed she could have whistled in admiration, had the circumstances been different.

“Sadly, no. But I know the birthday dates of every single member of the Lannister family. People usually stick to easily remembered combinations, especially when they drink as much as Cersei does.”

“Really, you should let me come with you,” Brienne insisted. “You’ll need another gun.”

Her arguments might have swayed Sansa - I saw hesitation in her pretty blue eyes - but I once more stated we only needed her to make sure nobody saw us sneaking out of the Tyrell villa. Brienne gave Sansa a couple more recommendations and wished us good luck. As we made a dart for the garden gate, she kept a lookout. I gazed over my shoulder and briefly saw her tall, almost masculine, silhouette with her hands buried deep in her pockets, leaning against the frame of the French windows.  _ Thank you Brienne, _ I thought. _ Thank you for letting me run away with the little bird. _

Taking one of the Lannister cars was out of the question. Once in the street, we ran to the nearest crossing, made a left into a quiet alley where I spotted a car that suited me - a black Ford Custom - just like the one I had borrowed after the warehouse burned down. Sansa watched me as I picked the lock and we got inside quickly.

Ten minutes later we were at the Lannister villa. Boros Blount was supposed to be there alone and he intended to spend the night listening to some boxing match on the radio. Sansa had deliberately left her window ajar so that I could sneak in easily. Once in her room, I gingerly opened the door leading to the hallway. The sports commentator was complaining about one of the boxers’ lack of aggressiveness and Blount groused with him. I followed the commentator’s voice all the way to the living room, hid myself behind the door and waited.

All of a sudden, Blount turned around and scanned his surroundings. “Hello?”

My pulse was racing. After turning off the radio, Blount grabbed his gun, moved past me without seeing me, paced the hallway then went back to the living room. 

“Must be the cat,” he mumbled. “That cat’s an asshole.”

Poor Blount! He blamed the wrong pet. As soon as he turned his back to me, I left my hiding place and knocked him out. I tied him up then I opened the front door for Sansa who had been waiting in the garden. She headed to the office, took down the painting of the first Lannister villa, Casterly Rock, and took a sharp inhale of breath before focusing on the lock. 

The first combination she tried wasn’t the right one. I left her alone in the study, went to what we called the armory and filled a bag with two extra guns and more ammo than was necessary for our one-way trip to the Northern border. Afterwards, I collected Sansa’s suitcase from her bedroom and my own duffel bag. When I came back to the study, Sansa was getting nervous, as none of the combinations she had tried so far had worked. 

“How many combinations left?”

“One. It  _ needs _ to be this one.” She turned the lock back and forth but nothing happened. There were tears in her eyes. Could it be that Cersei had outsmarted us by choosing a combination that wasn’t her children's birthday?

“Try it again,” I suggested. “Slowly this time.”

She sighed deeply and resumed her task. The safe door clicked open and our eyes met. Sansa then retrieved all the documents stored inside, deliberately leaving the wads of bills. I took one of these, while she went through the contracts and bills of sale.

“I think this is all I need,” she said. She let the safe open. If Cersei and Joffrey found Blount knocked out when they came back from the Tyrells’ they’d expect a robbery, at the very least.

“Let’s go.”

We were on our way to the door when the phone rang. We looked at each other, wondering whether or not we should pick up the phone. Who could call here so late? Cersei? If it was her calling and no one answered, she’d know something was wrong. If she heard my voice, I’d better have a good excuse to explain my presence here… The ringing went on until I ran to the phone and picked up. 

“Hello?”

“Clegane? I thought you’d still be there.”

It wasn’t Cersei’s voice, but Brienne’s and she sounded anxious. “Listen, they noticed you and Sansa were missing. You’d better hit the road. Now.”

I thanked her and hung up. Carrying our luggage, Sansa and I hurried to the street where we had left the car and I started her up. At the next crossroads, I recognized the Chevrolet Bel Air coming towards us.  _ Fuck! _ How did they get here so fast? Maybe they left the party before Brienne noticed.

While the driver tried to block the path, someone on the passenger side shot at us. Sansa screamed. The next second, the Chevrolet Bel Air crashed into the front of the car I had stolen, forcing me to stop. Under the light of the street lamps, I saw Meryn Trant and one of the Kettleblacks getting out of the car and taking aim at me.

“Trust me,” I said to a panicked Sansa, before getting out of the car the best I could because the car door was damaged. 

“So what do you think you were doing?” Meryn Trant asked me. His gun glued to his hand, he gestured with his open arms and smirked. “I knew you carried a torch for the Stark girl, I knew it from the start… remember when I found you spying on her in the backyard?” He jabbed me in the side.

“Quit the smile, Trant,” I said. “Your face looks better without it.”

Threatening me with his gun, he made me turn around and lean against the car so that he could search me. Then things went south. I elbowed him hard enough to make him lose his balance and his gun. A bullet whistled over my head - Kettleblack had missed me. I grabbed Trant’s gun on the ground and fired. I was ready to pounce on Kettleblack, when a pain like nothing I had known before shot through my left thigh. A black hole threatened to swallow me whole. I couldn’t let that happen so I held the grip tighter. I remember the look of utter disbelief on Kettleblack’s face when he pulled the trigger again but nothing happened. His gun had jammed. I gritted my teeth, leaned against the car door, and shot him.

Sansa was already getting out of the car, a gun she had found in the armory bag in her trembling hands. She took a look at my wound first, then told me not to move while she made sure Trant and Kettleblack were dead. The street was still empty but the windows of the nearest house were lit and it was only a matter of time before someone came. We couldn’t stay there. Sansa moved our things to the Chevy as our borrowed car was out of order. She helped me get inside, started the ignition and drove to the only place I could think of: Balon Swann’s bungalow.

The wound in my thigh hurt badly. I wrapped my thigh as best as I could and tried to focus on something else. Like… imagining the crossroads slowly disappearing in the rear window. What did it look like from a bird’s eye view, like they sometimes show you in the movies? If they had a chance to get there before Cersei and Joffrey sent someone to clean up everything, the police would find quite an interesting scene: two bruisers shot dead, lying near a stolen black Ford Custom with its front smashed. That, and under the bleak light of the street lamps, a small pool of blood on the asphalt. My blood.

Despite my efforts to stop the bleeding while Sansa drove at breakneck speed to the quiet suburb where Swann lived, another small, red puddle was forming on the cream leather seat of the Chevy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story even if there are tons of fics on AO3 and elsewhere, even if this one is dark. Your support means a lot.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I drew her closer and kissed her slowly. Time was ticking, we both knew it. Let’s make it count, I thought, and I believe she told herself the same. Her soft lips lingered on mine and then she planted a kiss on my forehead. Brienne was already there, her tall silhouette looming over Sansa’s crouched form.
> 
> “What we have...” the little bird said. “Nothing can erase what we have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cecilia1204 edited this whole story, including this chapter, and I can't thank her enough for her help. You're an amazing beta reader and a wonderful person!  
> Before you read this chapter, which is the last one of One Little Slip, I want to remind you that this story is based on the books not on the TV show and we don't know yet what will happen to Sandor and Sansa in the books. Whatever happened in GoT 8x5 has nothing to do with the ending I chose to write. From the start, I decided this story would have an open ending and I stuck to my choice. In fact, I only watched GoT last episode last night, several days after this update was written and edited.  
> If you're still reading this despite the warnings and all... you're the best.

“Well, here’s to what was.”

 _The Blue Dalhia_ , 1946.

The sheer look of panic on Balon Swann’s face didn’t really surprise me, given the circumstances. Trant and one of the Kettleblacks dead, my plan of leaving town with the little bird going south, yours truly shot in the leg... I’d lie if I said his pallid face and his stammering surprised me, but, as he helped me lay down on his couch, I realized how panic didn’t suit his face. His square jaw and deep-set eyes exuded self-control and coolness on ordinary days so, the second panic took hold of my friend, it changed him in such a way he was barely recognizable and almost ridiculous.

“You need to go to the hospital,” he said after taking a look at my wound.

Taking my pants off had been a nightmare and now I lay down on his couch, half-naked. Had the pain been lesser, I would have dwelled on this embarrassing experience - wearing nothing between my socks and underpants in front of the woman I love, while neither of us were in the mood for hanky-panky.

“Why do you think we took shelter at your place instead of going straight to fucking Scripps Mercy, huh? Because they’ll look for me there.”

Sansa told him what happened as we left the Lannister villa.

“What about Pycelle, chum?” Swann tried again. “If we give him some dough-”

“Pycelle? Fuck, no! He’s Cersei’s pet, I don’t trust him.”

“Can’t you at least remove the bullet?” Sansa asked Swann.

“Remove the bullet? Are you crazy?” he replied, hitting a high note. Like I said, panic didn’t look good on him. He paced the floor of the living room. “I know a guy,” he said again. “I will call him.”

I wagged my finger. “Call Brienne Tarth first and tell her to come here. We’ll need her help.”

Sitting on the carpet to be closer to me, Sansa hugged herself. “Oh, and Balon… if the telephone rings, it might be Joff or Cersei, so don’t pick up.”

 _Well said._ We watched Balon Swann nodding reluctantly before walking to the kitchen counter where he picked up the receiver.

Sansa then turned to me.  “I need to find a place here where I can hide until you’re able to travel,” she whispered.

“Brienne will help us.”

I wanted to reassure her so, heedless of my principles, I lied to her.

Hiding in San Diego was foolhardy. She couldn’t stay here any longer and that was why I needed Brienne’s help. Don’t blame me for lying to the woman I love -  I had no other choice. You know that, don’t you?

Brienne knocked at the door ten minutes later.  I had managed to tell Balon Swann that I wanted to talk to Brienne alone so he asked Sansa to help him find something in the bathroom. He didn’t ask why I wanted to be alone with Brienne, but his sad smile told me he knew what I had in mind.

I waited until they were out of earshot, then I turned to Brienne, who was looming over me. “How is your jaw?”

She shrugged.

“Looks like the late Catelyn Stark was right, Miss Tarth,” I went on. “You’ll need to run away with Sansa.”

Her blue eyes met mine. “I’m so sorry,” was all she said, and, as much as I wanted to hate her for being able-bodied while a bullet prevented me from driving a car, I couldn’t. She’s honest - that much is clear.

“You have to hit the road with her now, whether she wants to or not. She wants to stay here until I’m able to drive, but we both know that's as fucking stupid as it is dangerous.”

The strangest thing happened: Brienne wiped her eyes with her index finger, in a very ladylike gesture.

“Come on, Brienne. Save your pity for someone who deserves it.”

A sad little laugh escaped her lips. “You don’t deserve pity. I know your reputation, Clegane. It’s odd, really, because I didn’t think I’d ever say this but you deserve to run away with Sansa and...and I wish I could fix you up.” Tears welled up in her eyes again. She squeezed my hand briefly.

“Get her to the other side of the border safely,” I almost begged, grabbing her hand before she could remove it.

She swore she’d do her damnedest then gave me the name of a Canadian town where she and Sansa would wait for me if I ever made it to the border. The name of this town… I instantly loved it. I whispered it to myself again and again, like a promise. As we talk - or rather as I talk to you - I’ve come to the conclusion that I will never see this small town, most likely, and you’ll understand why I want to keep its name secret, just in case this recording falls into the wrong hands.

Brienne smiled at me afterwards, burying her hands deep in her pockets. We stayed there, looking at each other, until Sansa stormed into the living-room, Balon Swann on her heels.

“Is this why you asked Brienne to come? Because you want her to drive me north while you stay _here_?” She started crying and recoiled when Brienne tried to reach for her.

“I can’t drive, I can’t travel, even in the backseat of a car! Can’t you see I’m useless? But they’re coming, little bird. It’s just a matter of time. They could be here in a minute and I wouldn’t give much for our chances against them.”

“What if I refuse to leave?” she shouted. “You’re the one I want to run away with!”

Before I could say anything, Brienne closed the distance between them and stated calmly, “I’m afraid I’ll have to knock you unconscious and carry you to the car. I made a promise to your late mother months ago and I’ve just made another one to Clegane. You can yell at me if you want, Miss Stark. I don’t care.”

As she towered over Sansa, she almost looked scary. Sansa swallowed painfully, then she walked past Brienne, knelt down in front of the sofa and cried softly. The phone rang and it felt like the temperature of the room suddenly dropped.

“Don’t answer,” I advised Swann. “It’s probably Joffrey.”

“But if I don’t answer, he’ll know something’s wrong and-”

“And he’ll send someone over here, yes. That’s why Sansa needs to leave. We all need to leave, actually. Now.” I didn’t want my _chum,_ Balon Swann, to be here when the two remaining Kettleblacks knocked the door down.

“It’s a fifteen-minute drive from the Lannister villa,” Sansa said, sniffing. Her features tensed as the phone rang again.

I chuckled darkly. “Who told you they’re calling from the villa? There are telephone booths nearby.”

Brienne inched closer. “Clegane’s right, Miss. We should all leave.”

The little bird looked at her over her shoulder, pleading. Jaime’s girl understood and retreated from the living room, beckoning Swann to follow her.

“Never been very good at farewells,” I muttered once we were alone.

“Who told you this is farewell? Never in a million years would I have thought I’d do the things I’ve done recently, like... calling the restaurant where you were collecting money and pretending I was Cersei in order to talk to you. Like booking a room in a hotel for some... extracurricular activities.”

“Or like sleeping with me?”

She cupped my burnt cheek. “Like sleeping with you and asking myself why I didn’t fall in love with you earlier.”

“Say it again,” I asked. “I like the sound of it.”

She smiled, despite the tears in her eyes. “Asking myself why I didn't fall in love with you earlier.  None of these things were supposed to happen. So… you can’t be sure this is farewell, Sandor. You can never be sure.” Some of her mascara ran down her cheeks but she did nothing to wipe it away. There she was, kneeling on the carpet and leaning over me with streaks of makeup that gave her a funny look.

How I envy her for believing things will get better eventually. More than once, I'd heard Cersei making fun of Sansa, saying she had _‘as much personality as a paperclip’_ and wondering when she would finally snap. And she nearly did snap when she thought of murdering Joffrey.

Cersei didn’t understand back then. She couldn’t, because the secret that prevented the little bird from going fucking crazy was only a distant memory for Cersei. Something she had lost when her first milk tooth fell out and was now an exotic concept for her: hope. Hope is Sansa’s best weapon and I know that she will make it to the border and that someday she’ll have a better life. She will, and this certainty made the rest almost irrelevant.

I drew her closer and kissed her slowly. Time was ticking, we both knew it. _Let’s make it count,_ I thought, and I believe she told herself the same. Her soft lips lingered on mine and then she planted a kiss on my forehead. Brienne was already there, her tall silhouette looming over Sansa’s crouched form.

“What we have...” the little bird said. “Nothing can erase what we have.”

Brienne cleared her throat, but Sansa ignored her.

“I love you,” she said, her blue eyes boring into mine.

These were the words I thought I'd never be able to handle. Guess what? Maybe I'd was able to handle them after all, but it doesn't matter because we’ll never find out.

Brienne had to almost drag Sansa away from me. How long had it been since the phone rang? The front door closed shut on the two women and soon the engine of a car started. _They will make it to the border,_ I thought. _They have to succeed._ Balon Swann handed me a double bourbon - _‘to ease the pain’_ , he said - before helping me get dressed. Leaning on him, I hobbled outside, then to the car. Bending my leg to get in the passenger seat was a fucking ordeal.

“I’m going to find this man I talked to you about,” he told me as we left behind the neat little house where he lived. “Former marine, he is. Fought in the Pacific and all, then left the army and decided to take care of people instead of killin’ em. The guy knows how to patch someone up.”

“Where does this amazing fellow live?”

“Up north. On the other side of San Diego.”

“Let’s go downtown first, to the office of Robert Baratheon.”

Swann’s hand hit the steering wheel in frustration. “Why? What the fuck -”

“There’s a voice recorder in his office and I need to record my confession. I need to explain it all before kicking the bucket. You’ll tell Jaime about the recording and if he doesn’t have the balls to use it against his sister, you can always tell the Imp. He hates his sister so much he’ll be delighted to find something to accuse her of.”

Eyes fixed on the road, Swann shook his head. “We should fix your leg first!”

“Do as I say. Please, _chum_.”

He whispered something about me making fun of him and finally obeyed. Five minutes later, he pulled over and helped me get out of the car. The bleak light of the street lamp confirmed what I already knew: my leg was still bleeding.

“How are you going to get inside?”

“This is not your problem anymore, Swann. You’ve done more than enough.” I tried not to lose my balance and Swann caught me by the arm.

“I’ll find this guy and bring him back here,” he promised. “We’ll be back soon.”

“Find Jaime Lannister. Please. Jaime can stop this madness.”

He nodded, then he hugged me.

I forced the entrance door open and found out the elevator still worked even though the building looked abandoned. I broke the glass of the office door to get inside, found the dictaphone - and you know the rest.

Jaime, this recording is for you and I hope you’ll make good use of it. I hope this new dame of yours, Brienne Tarth, is right when she says you’re ready to do the right thing about all the shit that’s happened because of the Lannister family. Please do it. Do the right thing.

I’m tired, Jaime, and I’m so thirsty, I’m not sure I can keep talking. There are lots of things I never told you. Like the fact that I admired you when I was a kid or that I’ve come to a point where I can no longer hate Cersei and I somewhat pity her. Don’t be too hard on her. If she had been born in a different family, she would have been a good person, you know.

I think I’m going to rest a little before you arrive. If you arrive. I’m going to close my eyes and think about the little bird, who’s on her way to Canada and who will have a better life there. Her soft lips, her red hair - this is the kind of image I want to keep in mind before going west.

There’s someone downstairs. I can’t hear any voices, but there are doors opening and closing. I still have my gun, but am I able to aim accurately? I’m- I’m going to take my gun, remove the safety and wait patiently...

Here. The gun feels nicely heavy. Many people wish to hold someone’s hand on their deathbed. For want of anything better, I’ll hold the grip of my good, old P38. It’s like someone’s hand, only a little colder.

Now I can hear the purring sound of the elevator. Is it Balon Swann with this former Marine who now heals people? Is it one of the fucking Kettleblacks? Or is it you, Jaime?

What did the little bird say earlier? _You can’t be sure this is farewell, Sandor. You can never be sure._ Well, we’re about to find out. There’s someone behind the door of the office.

I’m ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's about to push the door open? Is it the former marine with medical skills Balon Swann talked about (you probably guessed by now who this man is...)? Is it Jaime? Is it one of the Kettleblacks? You can pick any option. Open endings are great in my opinion because the reader doesn't feel like the author holds them by the hand but let them decide what is going to happen. Again, this is just my opinion and I know some people will disagree.
> 
> Thanks a million for reading this story, leaving kudos and sharing your thoughts in the comments :)  
> One Little Slip is shorter than most of my multi-chapter stories, but it was quite a journey.


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